


Rejoice! (And Fall to Your Knees)

by romanticalgirl, velvetjinx



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Communication Failure, M/M, Past Torture, Priest Steve Rogers, breaking vows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 15:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21199580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetjinx/pseuds/velvetjinx
Summary: Bucky and Steve have known each other all their lives, but since Steve left the Army, they haven't kept in touch much. Mostly because Bucky has no idea how to process the fact that Steve decided to become a priest, and what little he and Steve have talked has done nothing to make it clear to him.After being hurt and captured on a mission, months of torture made Bucky decide that he wasn't going to die without telling Steve how he felt about him. He knows nothing will change, and maybe it's unfair to put it on Steve's shoulders, but his profession means he has to deal with confessions all the time.But how things are away from Steve are different from how things are being with Steve. And being with Steve is really all that Bucky wants.





	Rejoice! (And Fall to Your Knees)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Jinx for being a joy to work with. 
> 
> I am not Catholic, and, while I've asked questions and done research, any mistakes are mine regarding any practices, errors, etc when it comes to all the church/priest information. I apologize to anyone who might be offended by such.
> 
> I am horrible at knowing what to tag, so please let me know if I've missed anything.
> 
> ***

Bucky stares up at the church, shaking his head. He feels ridiculous. He knows he shouldn’t be here, for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that he hasn’t been in a church in a good twenty years.

He walks around the building until he finds the door to the living quarters and knocks. The door opens a few moments later, and Bucky smirks as soon as he sees Steve, biting the inside of his lip to keep from echoing Steve’s smile.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been twenty-seven years since my last confession.”

“You _are_ twenty-seven.” Steve raises an eyebrow. “And Jewish.”

“Aw, shit. I suppose I gotta go then?” He reaches out and tugs at the vestment Steve has slung over one shoulder. “Green, huh? Should be blue to bring out your eyes.”

“We don’t have a blue one.” He shakes his head. “C’mere, you.”

He lets Steve tug him in, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. “Looks like civilian life is treating you pretty well.” He taps Steve’s nose. “Got some sun.”

“It’s amazing what happens when you’re not wearing full tactical gear whenever you’re outside. We have a garden.”

“Of course you do.” He realizes they’re still holding each other in the hug and pulls back. “You look good, Stevie. Father Stevie.”

“Please don’t ever call me that.”

“You spoil all my fun.” 

“I”m a priest. That’s my job.” He tilts his head toward the residence. “You want to come in?”

“I don’t know. Am I going to catch fire or anything?”

“Not to my knowledge. I mean, I’ve never had it happened before.”

“And how many people do you invite into your bedroom, Padre?”

“My living quarters.” Steve takes a step backward. “Are you coming in or not?”

“So inviting.” Bucky walks inside, looking around. It’s nothing fancy, but there are touches of Steve around the room -- photographs of his mother, of him and Bucky, of their unit in Iraq. There are shelves full of books, and artwork on the wall, some obviously Steve’s work and the others probably the kids from the parish. “Cozy.”

“I don’t do a lot of entertaining. Most of the people I see are on the other side of a screen or on their knees in front of me.” Bucky chokes back a laugh, and Steve turns bright red which destroys the impact of his glare. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, Steve.” Bucky schools his expression even in the face of Steve’s continued glare. “Your Catholic ways are foreign to me.”

“I hate you.”

“Thought that was a sin. You’re supposed to be all ‘love one another,’ turn the other cheek. You’d better confess.”

Steve shoves him. “You want coffee?”

“Like you would not believe.” Steve walks over to the little kitchenette and starts his single-cup coffee maker. “I love that you can’t call me names in the church. We’re hanging out here all the time now.” 

“I have to pray for the patience of a saint to deal with you.” He points to one of the chairs. “Sit down.”

“Bossy.” Bucky happily sprawls on the chair, shifting just a little to get comfortable.

“When’d you get out?”

“Stark set me free a couple of days ago. You should see it now. Nice and shiny.”

“That’s not quite what I meant.”

“Officially?” Bucky shrugs, because it’s much harder to be flippant about this. “I’ve been off duty for two months dealing with Stark, but my official discharge is this Friday.”

“So technically you’re AWOL.”

“Technically. So, Father, can I ask for sanctuary?”

Steve’s voice is soft. “You can ask me for anything. You know that.”

“I just don’t want to be the reason the big guy smites you or anything.”

“Uncle Sam doesn’t scare me.”

“Pretty sure nothing scares you.”

“You’d be surprised.” He brings Bucky’s coffee over to him. “I can grab a sleeping bag out of the camping gear. I doubt the chairs will be comfortable.”

Bucky sips his coffee and groans softly. Steve shifts his stance, then sits across from him. “Thanks. Wasn’t sure where else to go. I don't think the family’s ready for the cyborg treatment.”

“I think you underestimate them.” He reaches out and gestures. “C’mon. Let’s see it. Unless it’s top secret or something.”

“Nope.” Bucky grins. “Just under cover.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I could kick you out.”

“Bet you couldn’t. I’ve got a metal arm.”

“I’ve got God on my side.”

“No fair calling on a higher power.”

Steve leans in far enough to tap Bucky’s arm. “Pretty sure Stark thinks he’s one.” He tugs the sleeve. “C’mon. Give me a show.”

Bucky snorts and stands up, tugging his glove off slowly. “Need some stripper music.”

“Unless you think _Nearer My God to Thee_ is sexy, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“That is possibly the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.” He throws his glove at Steve. “You should feel bad about yourself.”

“I’ll go to confession,” Steve promises as he catches the glove. “C’mon, Barnes. Stop stalling. Get to the good stuff.”

Bucky bites his lower lip, suddenly nervous. He slips off his jacket, then starts unbuttoning his shirt. He should have worn a T-shirt so he could have just lifted the sleeve. Instead he slides out of the shirt and lets it fall to the chair.

He glances at Steve, closing his eyes when Steve wets his lips. He swallows hard, nearly choking when Steve touches his biceps. “Sensation?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s voice drops and he clears his throat. “Hot. Cold. Pressure.”

Steve runs his fingers up to Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky forces himself to breathe evenly. Steve’s eyes stay locked on where the skin and metal meet. Bucky can’t help shivering even though he can’t really feel anything, but the sight of Steve’s fingers, his closeness, has Bucky’s heart in his throat.

“You never told me your shoulder was so torn up.”

“I thought it was implied with the whole ‘lost my arm to an IED.’”

“I just mean I didn’t know it was so bad. I don’t know what I imagined.” He traces the white ridges of the join. “I prayed for you. I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but…”

“It means a lot, Steve.” He reaches out, flesh fingers stroking along Steve’s jaw. His lashes flutter, brushing his cheeks. Bucky has to swallow again, and he drops his hand immediately when Steve looks at him. “Just that you thought about me.”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I did. You’re my best friend.”

“Isn’t there some whole ‘forsaking all others’ thing?”

“That’s marriage.”

“Right. And the nuns are the ones who do that. You guys are kind of anti–gay marriage anyway. Anti-gay everything.”

“I’m not anti-gay anything.”

“You’re a priest.”

“My God is about love and tolerance for all Hs creatures. He really doesn’t care who you sleep with.”

“I can think of a few people he might not approve of.”

“Just don’t covet. He made a whole rule about that one.” He seems to realize he still has his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and drops it to his side. Bucky immediately misses the heat. “And they’re cool about the whole spilling of seed thing now.”

“That’s going on the list of things to never say again.”

Steve laughs. “Trust me. I can get a lot worse.”

“Well, there’s a good reason why I’m not a priest.”

“You mean _besides_ the whole Jewish thing.”

“Yeah. That too. But people tell you disgusting things. Even if they’re not horrific you still can’t tell anyone, so you’re stuck with it.”

“That’s why we have prayer.”

“Ask him to give you confessional memory loss?”

“Something like that.” Steve sits back down and kicks Bucky’s shoe. “So. How long am I stuck with you?”

Bucky pulls his shirt back on, shrugging with the movement as well as in answer. “At this point, I don’t have anywhere else to be, so until you get tired of me or the Pope kicks me out.”

“Pretty sure the Pope is cool with you crashing here. Let me go get the sleeping bag.”

Steve stands up, and Bucky gets to his feet as well. He reaches out and curves his finger over the top of Steve’s collar, holding him there. He feels Steve swallow. “Thanks.”

Steve nods. “Anytime.”

**

“This is the worst idea I’ve ever had,” Bucky hisses into his phone. “I’m going to hell, and I don’t even _believe_ in it.”

“You’re not going to hell.” Natasha sounds bored which, knowing Natasha, means she’s defusing a bomb.

“I grabbed him by his collar.”

“So?”

“The clerical one.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Exactly. What else?”

“Nothing.”

“So no vows were broken?”

“No!”

He can practically hear her shrug. “So. You’re clear.”

“But I _wanted_ to.”

“Look, I don’t understand why he decided to devote his life to the church or what the hell that means, but I’m pretty sure it’s what you do, not what you think. Plus, that’s his religion, not yours.”

“Yeah, but I’m thinking about what I want to do to _him_.”

“Again, if you’re not doing it, it doesn’t count.”

“Right. Okay.”

“You’ve been friends for a long time. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know.” Bucky sighs. “The whole near-death thing makes it hard to be okay with just being friends, to not let him know.”

“So what do you think he’d do if you told him?”

“Tell me he’s sorry. Tell me he still loves me and values our friendship. And that he’ll pray for me to find someone who loves me like I deserve to be loved.”

“Not ‘I’ve been harboring these feelings for you and confess every week, but they’re still there’ then.”

“He’s a priest.”

“Yeah. And some priests are pedophiles.”

“I have no idea what that has to do with anything.” Bucky groans and leans back in the chair, listening for Steve’s return.

“Just saying some priests are more the ‘do as i say, not as I do’ type. Maybe Steve’s like that.”

“You’ve never met Steve, obviously, otherwise you would be laughing yourself sick at the thought. Steve’s righteous and upstanding and always does what’s right. He was meant to be a priest.”

“Not necessarily. The church doesn’t always do what’s right, you know?”

“Tell me what to do.”

“I already did.”

“Okay.” Bucky sighs. “Tell me what the right thing to do is.”

“Hang out with your friend. If the opportunity presents itself or if you just happen to say something, then go from there. Trying to guess how he’s going to react is stupid and gets you nowhere.”

“I can’t afford to lose his friendship.”

Natasha sighs, and Bucky can hear the edge in her voice that reminds him they’ve had this conversation before. Several times. “James, if he doesn’t want to be your friend because you’re gay or bisexual or because you have a thing for him and he doesn’t have one for you, then he’s not the kind of person you need to be friends with. He’s a homophobic dickhead.” 

He sighs heavily. “Right.”

“James…”

“No. You’re right.” He picks up his coffee cup and takes it into the small kitchenette. There are photos on the refrigerator, hung up with magnets that look like they were made by Sunday-schoolers -- lopsided crosses, little brown squares with “Bible” scrawled in bad but careful handwriting, and, much to Bucky’s amusement, a mangled attempt at a Star of David, and a picture of Steve and Bucky from before they enlisted. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to you later.”

He hangs up before she can say anything else. Reaching out, he traces the Star of David. He hears Steve come inside and the sound of the sleeping bag hit the floor before the door shuts. Steve’s still wearing his clerical shirt and slacks, only they’re now gray with dust in some areas, and his blond hair has a coating of fuzz. 

“Remind me to put clean out the shed on my to-do list.” He ruffles his hair to get the majority of the dust out of it, then looks down at his outfit. “Okay. I’m going to shower and change. Do you want to go out and get some dinner?”

“Sounds great.” Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks up onto the balls of his feet. “I suppose Hooters is out of the question.”

“Yes, but mostly because they have horrible food.” Steve reaches up to the back of his neck and undoes his clerical collar, tugging it free. “Be right back. Make yourself at home.”

“In a church.”

“Living quarters.” Steve shakes his head and rolls his eyes, then disappears through the door off the kitchen that undoubtedly leads to the bedroom and bathroom. 

Bucky watches him until the door closes behind him, then leans down and bangs his forehead onto the countertop. He voluntarily went to Iraq and ended up with his arm blown off and this, right here, is the worst plan he’s ever had.

**

“So, where are we going?” Bucky asks when Steve comes back out. He looks away from the bookcase he’s perusing and stops, blinks, and then starts laughing. Steve frowns at him and looks down at himself. 

“What?”

“You look ridiculous.You’re like Father Paul Bunyan.” Steve’s wearing jeans, his black shirt, his collar, and a flannel shirt. He looks absolutely ridiculous, absolutely adorable, and eminently fuckable, which is something Bucky needs to not think. Ever. “Are you bringing an axe to dinner? Are we going there on your big blue ox?”

Steve sticks his tongue out, and, for a moment, Bucky waits for Steve to call him an asshole, but then he remembers that the Steve in front of him is much different than the Steve inIraq, the Steve Bucky had known as a rebellious teenager. “You wish you could go for a ride on my big blue ox.”

Bucky’s eyes widen and Steve blushes nearly as red as the red vestment hanging on the rack behind him. “Wow.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you need to go pray or confess or something. Cross yourself? Are you going to burn in hell for that euphemism?”

“Why did I choose literally the worst person in the world to be my best friend? What was I thinking?”

“Pretty sure you were suffering from a concussion when we met, so we’ll attribute it to that if it’ll make you feel better. Now, Father Bunyan, where are we going?”

Steve huffs, takes off his flannel, and grabs the leather jacket that’s hanging on a hook next to the rack of vestments. He shrugs it on and Bucky’s breath catches in his chest. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Bucky swallows hard. “Let’s go. Eat.”

Steve smiles and opens the door. “Did you drive here?”

“No. Took a cab from the airport.”

“You can fly with that thing?” He locks the door behind them once Bucky’s outside. “Do you have to have something special for it to get past security?”

“Haven’t figured that out yet. Stark flew me out here. Part of the package deal, I guess. Get a new arm, catch a flight to anywhere.”

“Well, we can take the church van or my bike.”

“Are you going to put me on your handlebars or something?” 

Steve snorts and opens the door to the small shed next to the white van with the name of the church stencilled on it. Inside is a gorgeous Harley Davidson Breakout. He raises an eyebrow and gives Bucky a cocky grin. “I mean, you can ride on ‘em, if you want. Seems kind of dangerous though.”

“Holy shit.”

Steve glances skyward. “Forgive him, Father, for he is an idiot.”

Bucky walks into the shed and runs his hand over the seat. “When did you get this?”

“Two years ago. One of my parishioners was selling it.”

“She’s beautiful. Wow.” He climbs on and settles on the seat, hands on the leather in front of him between his legs. “You are the least cliche priest I’ve ever met.”

“How many priests have you met?”

“Well, there was Father Mulcahy on M*A*S*H*, then Roohey and Anderson and Dickson overseas.”

“Pretty sure they were all non-denominational. The Army tries not to offend.”

Bucky turns his head and gives Steve a skeptical look. “Since when?”

“Okay, that’s fair.” He walks over and wraps his fist around the handlebar. “So you haven’t actually really known _any_ priests.”

“I guess. If you want to get technical.” Bucky shrugs. “Still think Father Mulcahy should count.”

Steve leans over the handlebars, face close to Bucky’s. Too close. Too tempting. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Part of my charm. So, c’mon. Wine me and dine me. I expected better hospitality from a guy who gives people he barely knows wine every Sunday.”

“I also give them dry, tasteless wafers that necessitate the wine.” He moves beside the bike. “If you’re not driving, you have to get off.”

Bucky grins widely. “I can drive?”

“I’m willing to risk it. Just let me say a quick prayer first.”

Bucky laughs and scoots forward, taking the helmet Steve holds out to him. He puts it on while Steve climbs on behind him, settling firmly against Bucky’s body with his chest to Bucky’s back and their thighs pressed together. Bucky exhales shakily as the muscles of his body tighten, as Steve presses against him and settles his hands on his hips. He hands Bucky the key over his shoulder then puts his own helmet on. 

“Try not to kill us. I’m the only person locally who can give last rites.” 

“Can you even give last rites to yourself?”

“Let’s not find out.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes and starts the bike, walking it out of the shed before taking off. Steve’s arms wrap around his waist, and he can hear the echo of his laugh. Steve doesn’t say anything, just leans in against Bucky, so Bucky winds through the streets with no destination in mind. A few people wave, which means Steve must take the bike out often enough for people -- at least his parishioners -- to recognize him.

Bucky spies a sign and heads out of town, speeding up once they’re outside city limits. Steve’s body is hot against his, his arms wrapped around Bucky and holding on. He keeps his hands tight on the handlebars so he’s not tempted to touch Steve at all. After a while and a few more signs, Bucky slows down, turning off the main road and following a gravel one down into the trees. He pulls off into a clearing at the base of it, settling the bike as he stops.

“Mm.” Steve hums against Bucky’s back. “One of my favorite places.”

“Not surprised in the slightest.” He steadies the bike as Steve climbs off, smiling when he removes his helmet and his blond hair stands up due to the static. He shifts slightly so he can watch Steve walk down to the water’s edge. “I missed you, you know.”

Steve turns and gives him a small smile. “I missed you too. I know it wasn’t anything like what you went through, but I was so scared for you.”

“I got your letters and texts.”

“I wanted to be there.” He exhales slowly and walks back to Bucky. “I didn’t want you to be alone. But since the discharge and the fact that I couldn’t even lie about being your spiritual counselor, Fury flat out told me they weren’t going to let me in.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t up to talking on the phone.” 

“You’d just undergone significant trauma, Buck. No one expected you to be okay right away.”

He looks at the ground, refusing to meet Steve’s eyes. “Not sure I’m ever going to be okay again.”

Steve reaches out and rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder before stepping in closer and pulling him forward. Bucky’s forehead settles against Steve’s sternum and he inhales sharply, surprised at the surge of feelings that slam into him.

Not feelings. Emotions.

A sob rips out of his throat and then Steve’s arms are around him, rubbing along Bucky’s spine. He’d seen Nat and Clint immediately after the amputation, and his parents right before the surgery to prep him for Stark’s program. But none of them were Steve and it suddenly hits him how much he’s missed him. Needed him.

“Hey.” Steve bends forward and his breath stirs Bucky’s hair before he plants a soft kiss against his head. His palm sweeps up and down Bucky’s spine. Bucky’s arms wrap tight around Steve’s waist and he clings to him, struggling to breathe through the tears he didn’t think he’d ever shed. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’m right here. I’m right here. I’m so sorry it’s been so long.”

Steve’s other hand settles on the back of Bucky’s neck, thumb brushing the short hairs at Bucky’s nape. Bucky’s whole body shivers, and only the fact that he’s still straddling the bike keeps him from moving closer to Steve, to falling apart on him.

“I’m right here, Buck. Not going anywhere.” His voice is soft but there’s steel in the words. Bucky lets out another shuddering breath, but then listens, lets his breathing fall in sync with Steve’s. Steve shifts back slightly and frames Bucky's face with both hands, holding him still so he can look him in the eye. “Right here, okay? Not going anywhere.”

Bucky nods and he tries to calm his ragged breathing. “Shit.” He sniffs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Sorry.”

Steve pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it over to Bucky. Bucky stares at it for a long moment, then looks up at Steve. 

“Really?”

“Shut up.”

“Are you eighty?”

“They were a gift.”

“From someone who thinks you’re eighty?”

“Clean your face or I refuse to be seen in public with you.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very Jesus-y attitude.” He wipes his eyes and then his cheeks, which feel tight from drying tears, before blowing his nose. He makes a face, folds the handkerchief and shoves it in his own pocket. “Yeah. Um. I’ll wash that.”

Steve puts a hand against Bucky’s cheek again, making him tilt his head up. “You’re welcome here, you know. With me. As long as you need. As long as you’d like.”

Bucky smiles at him, the setting sun creating a halo of fire around Steve’s head. “You’re writing me a blank check there, you know.”

“I do.” He climbs back on the bike, wrapping his arms around Bucky again. “Cash it any time.”

**

Bucky stretches out on the sleeping bag and listens as Steve brushes his teeth. He hasn’t really lived around Steve since he joined the order -- answered his calling -- so this part feels strange. Before that, they would have flipped each other shit, talked about movies and books and TV shows, about dates they’d had, people they were attracted to. In the Army they’d talked about how fucking stupid command was and how it shouldn’t be that cold in the desert, and how if Steve didn’t get five minutes alone soon, he was going to jerk off in the middle of the supply tent, incoming requisitions be damned.

They never talked about how that thought had made Bucky need to be alone for five minutes.

The bathroom door opens, and Bucky turns his head. Steve’s dressed in a white tank top and a pair of blue pajama pants, socks still on his feet. He turns off the light, then walks over to the bed and sits down on the edge of it. “You okay?”

“Yeah. All settled in.” He’s stretched out on his back, arms folded behind his head. “Warm and toasty.”

“Good.” Steve rests his elbows on his thighs and clasps his hands, bending his head forward and closing his eyes. Bucky stays silent, watching Steve pray. Bucky’s eyes flick to the rosary on Steve’s bedside table, then back to his hands. Steve seems unreal like this. So sturdy and strong, unwavering. He mutters a near silent amen and crosses himself, then straightens up. 

“You’re beautiful like that, you know?”

“What?” Steve laughs quietly and shakes his head. “I think maybe somebody put something in your drink and you’re hallucinating. Or does Stark still have you on the good painkillers?”

“You look peaceful.”

“That’s what I’m looking for. The guidance I’m seeking. How to be at peace.”

Bucky closes his eyes and nods. Staying here is a bad idea. It’s wrong on so many levels. Steve has his faith, and Bucky has no right to test it. With everything Steve’s been through in his life, he’s had enough tests, and Bucky doesn’t need to be another or, worse, make Steve push him away.

“You’ll have to let me know the secret if you find it. Assuming it’s secular, that is.”

“Don’t deal too much with the secular.”

“Did you christen the bike or something? Because that’s pretty secular.”

“Sometimes I miss the fact that I used to be able to flip you off any time I wanted to.” Steve lies down on the bed, but turns on his side and props his head on his hand so he can look down at Bucky. 

“You know, knowing you as well as I do, I have to say that the priesthood would have been the _last_ thing I could see you doing. You cursed like a sailor, you got in fights pretty much everywhere you went, you butted heads with authority your entire life, and I _know_ you liked sex, and I heard you masturbate more times than anyone should be forced to listen to.”

“We’ve had this argument before.”

“I’m not arguing with you. I never did. I never told you this was something you shouldn’t do. I know what your faith means to you. I just never imagined you deciding to join the priesthood.”

“Fine. We’ve had this discussion before.”

“I guess I just don’t understand why this is the way you thought you should serve.”

Steve falls back onto the bed and exhales loudly. “The priesthood isn’t predicated on understanding. Yours or mine.” After a few moments of silence, he speaks again.”He works in mysterious ways.”

“I know. I do.” Bucky closes his eyes and turns on his side away from Steve. “I just miss you sometimes.”

“I’m right here.”

“Yeah. Sometimes that makes me miss you even more.”

**

Bucky’s sure the next morning will be awkward, so he manages to leave before Steve gets up. He goes for a run, putting miles between himself and the church, gets a cup of coffee at a small shop, and then makes his way back. He stands outside of Steve’s door, sweating and trying to catch his breath, though he’s not sure if it’s from the run or the fact that he has to go back in and face Steve.

The door opens under his hand, and it only takes a few seconds to realize Steve’s not home. Bucky grabs his clothes and goes into the bathroom, showering his run off of him. The hot water feels good beating down on his skin, so he stands there for a while just letting it pound against him until it starts to cool. 

He dries off and dresses and makes himself another cup of coffee. He drinks it as slowly as he can, but eventually knows he’s put everything off as long as possible. He leaves Steve's place and heads toward the church itself. 

It’s beautiful inside with stained glass designs falling on the floor with the sunlight. He ignores the middle aisle and the font, walking around the edges. Catholic churches have always put him off, even with how pretty they are. Too much excess, and it always reminds him of Steve and his mom struggling to make ends meet, and Sarah always paying a tithe. The church had provided Steve with a coat and shoes from time to time, but Bucky never understood giving charity when you needed it yourself.

There’s gold and gilt, Christ on the cross with flecks of it in the blood coming from his side. Bucky shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets. Steve’s sitting in the front pew, fully decked out in his cassock, holding the hand of an older woman, both of their heads bent in discussion or prayer. 

There’s a sign on an easel to the right of the altar, obviously Steve’s work in the careful writing and sketched artwork. It’s likely for Sunday’s sermon, a title and Bible verses listed beneath. Bucky concentrates on the sign, playing “where’s Waldo” as he searches for the dancing monkey that’s been Steve’s signature since they started boot camp, since the dawn of Steve’s biting editorial comic strips that got passed around -- _The Dancing Monkey Goes to War_.” They had inevitably ended up on Phillips’s desk, but no one was ever accused, and Bucky knew Steve took it as a point of pride the day they saw one pinned up on the corkboard by Phillips’s desk.

Bucky finally spots it and traces the tiny drawing with his finger. He hears the rustle of Steve’s cassock before he’s close. “You’re the only one who knows to look for it.”

“Why are you still using him?” 

“Still performing. Still following orders. Just come from a higher power than even Generals McCrystal and Petraeus.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that.”

Steve presses his hand lightly to the small of Bucky’s back, and Bucky takes a deeper breath than normal. “What brings you in here?”

“Thought I’d see how the gentiles lived.” He turns, moving away from Steve’s touch. “Are there plans for dinner or are you having some sort of spaghetti feed or something?”

“Nothing specific planned. I have a service at six, and then confessions until nine, so you should probably fend for yourself. You’re welcome to anything I’ve got.”

“You don’t have much except three frozen pizzas, sandwich makings, and coffee. Not even a single casserole for the handsome priest. I’m disappointed in your flock, Steve.”

“Casseroles are for religions that let their religious leaders marry. I’m afraid lovely young ladies bringing me meatloaf wouldn’t do them any good. Bachelor maybe, but definitely not eligible.” Steve smiles. “But if you’d like, I can put out a call on Sunday. Let the parish know I have a starving child of Israel sleeping on my floor.”

Bucky shoves him lightly. “You’re an as--” He cuts himself off. “Crap.”

Steve laughs, the sound filling the church. “I’ve missed you, you know that?” He wraps his hand around the back of Bucky’s head and pulls him forward so they’re forehead to forehead. “So much.”

Bucky just breathes him in. “Why? Because I don’t take you seriously in your dress?”

“You would if you could see the stockings underneath. And the heels. I’m very fashionable.” Steve lifts his head and presses a soft kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “Because you’re my best friend in the entire world, and you’re alive, and you’re here.”

“And I don’t make fun of you.”

“You constantly make fun of me.”

“Hey, just because you’ve got the big guy on speed dial doesn’t mean someone doesn’t need to take you down a peg or two.”

“Father Rogers!” 

Bucky jerks back from Steve, taking a step away and breaking Steve’s hold on him. Steve turns smoothly, a welcoming smile on his face. 

“Mrs. Andrews.”

“Oh, Father Rogers. I was hoping you would have a minute to discuss the ladies’ auxiliary meeting. We’re hoping to have a bachelor auction.”

“A bachelor’s auction?”

“Oh yes. They’re all the rage.” 

“I see.” Steve walks off with her, giving Bucky a quick, desperate look over his shoulder. “Well, we should definitely discuss that.”

“Hey, Father Rogers.” Bucky calls out, stopping their progress. “I’m taking your bike to pick up a few things. There anything the guy upstairs hasn’t supplied?”

“I’m out of milk.”

“You’re out of everything.”

Steve grins. “Better take the van then.”

He turns back to Mrs. Andrews and they start walking off. Bucky can hear her asking who Steve’s friend is, saying she’s never seen him in church before. He grins as they disappear through the doors at the back of the church. 

Bucky heads back to Steve’s residence and grabs the van keys from beside the door. He’s definitely picking up an air mattress.

**

Bucky’s sitting on the couch when Steve comes in. It’s after ten and he’s mid-yawn when he sees Bucky, starting a little. “You’re not in bed.”

“Nope. There’s taco stuff if you’re hungry.”

“I had a snack.” Steve’s stomach grumbles and Bucky just raises an eyebrow. “...but tacos sound great. Thanks.” 

Bucky gets up, following Steve into the kitchenette. He boosts himself up onto the counter and watches as Steve microwaves the leftover meat. Steve glances over at him, then reaches out, running his fingers over Bucky’s arm. Bucky watches his fingers as they stroke up and down the metal, and he shivers slightly at the touch. 

Steve pulls his hand back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just takes some getting used to. I get some phantom pain, you know? But most of the time it’s more that my brain can’t process the signals it’s receiving correctly. Like, if I see someone touch me, I think about all the things I _should_ feel, not what I’m actually feeling. And even though I’ve known all along I was going to have a kickass metal robot arm, it still takes a lot to look down and see that I have a kickass, metal, robot arm.”

“It is pretty kickass.”

“Are you even allowed to say that?”

The microwave dings and Steve starts prepping his tacos. “I’ll ask for forgiveness.”

Bucky watches as Steve puts sour cream on one of the tacos, hand out to take it even before Steve hands it to him. “You know I ate, right?”

“I know you’ll eat more.” Steve shrugs and takes a bite of his own taco. Setting it down, he opens the fridge and grabs two beers, opening them both before handing one to Bucky. Bucky’s eyebrow goes up again and Steve shakes his head. “Don’t. I’m not breaking any rules, and I’m having one beer in my own home.”

Bucky just stuffs his taco into his mouth and takes another bite. Steve holds the bottle loosely, fingers around the neck as he lifts it up to drink. Bucky watches him from the tongue wetting his lips before he lifts the bottle to it, to the curve of Steve’s throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple.

He puts the bottle down and turns, leaning against the counter next to Bucky, letting his head fall against Bucky’s bicep. “What you said. Last night.”

“I was in a maudlin mood. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know it’s been hard on you. All of this. Me choosing this.”

“You didn’t choose though, right? Isn’t that the point? That’s why it’s a calling.” Bucky finishes his taco and picks up his beer, taking several swallows. “Your priorities changed.”

“You didn’t change in my priorities.” Steve’s brow furrows, his lips tightening into a thin line. “You’re the most important person in my life. And I’m sorry if this means I can’t be there for you, can’t be the friend you want me to be. That… That I was.”

“That’s not what I said, and it sure as hell isn’t what I meant.” He turns slightly, knee on the counter so he can look at Steve. “I just have to reconcile Father Rogers with Steve Rogers, okay? Who you were and who you are now… They’re not the same. I’ve known you forever, so you left the desert and came back and became someone I didn’t know. You changed -- fundamentally -- and because of something I didn’t even realize was part of you.”

They’re years too late having this discussion, Bucky knows. When Steve had come back stateside and told Bucky he was going to school rather than re-upping, he hadn’t mentioned what he was going to school for, and Bucky hadn’t thought to ask. It wasn’t until two years later when Bucky was home on leave and visiting Steve that he’d seen the books piled on the coffee table. Psychology and theology. He’d asked and Steve had evaded until it was almost time for Bucky to go back to Iraq when Steve had told him the truth. 

Nothing about the discussion had gone well. Not Bucky’s reaction, not Steve’s explanation. Bucky had ended up leaving with nothing resolved between then. They barely spoke for the next two years it took Steve to get out of college, and until Bucky received a call from his mom asking Bucky if he knew why she was getting a graduation announcement from Steve, he did his best not to think about it. Still, he’d gotten leave, had pulled every string he had, and he’d sat there and watched Steve walk across the stage. 

He’d left before Steve could see him. He called and acted like he was in Iraq still, offering his congratulations.He’d qualified it by telling Steve he didn’t think he could ever understand why Steve would deliberately choose that life, had chosen it, but he’d support him.

After that, Bucky had found a club, drank too much, picked up a guy, and gone back to his hotel. He’d woken alone with itchy eyes, bad breath, and a headache that required the liberal application of coffee, water, aspirin, and greasy bacon and chili-fries.

It didn’t help, and he’d gone back to Iraq without talking to Steve again.

And then Bucky’s unit had gotten into a firefight, his Hummer had hit an IED, and six of them had gotten taken prisoner. Three months later, Spec Ops had burst in to rescue them when they were mid-escape, and the entire unit had been airlifted to German, Bucky’s arm had been a lost cause, and eventually he’d ended up in New York in the clutches of Tony Stark.

“I’m not sure I knew it was until… I came home, and nothing was the same. People would thank me for my service, and I didn’t actually know what they were thanking me for, because I didn’t remember doing anything that served anything other than some rich man’s agenda. I got… Lost.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“By the way, Buck, I know you’re still over there fighting, but I’ve decided that it’s wasteful and fruitless and what you’re doing doesn't help anyone in the long run.” He gives Bucky a long look. “How would you have taken that, do you think?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Probably not well.”

“Probably not.” Steve takes another drink of his beer. “I was going to register for school and I passed by a church on my way. And I hadn’t been, you know? In ages. Since Mom died, but I felt like I had to go inside. And I don’t know. I didn’t have it all figured out in that moment, but I felt _something_. The calling, I guess.”

“And… after?”

“I wanted to come. I did. But, I hadn’t heard from you in two years. I thought maybe you didn’t want me to come. I knew that you didn’t…. Approve, I guess. And I didn’t want to make things worse. But I wanted to be there. I swear.”

“I would have wanted you there. I did want you there.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I have to go back to New York for a final check on my arm.” Bucky swallows down a few more sips of beer. He opens his mouth several times, closing it each time without managing a word. Finally he clears his throat. “Will you come with me? To see my folks and Becca?”

“Yes.”

“And if I need to? Will you let me come back here with you?”

Steve nods and meets Bucky’s eyes. “Yes.”

**

He doesn’t ask what it takes to get a substitute preacher, but he says it a lot because it makes Steve roll his eyes. He stopped telling Bucky that he’s a _visiting priest_ when it didn’t change anything, letting Bucky have his fun. He can tell it still irritates Steve though, which is what makes it fun, so he doesn’t stop.

One of the parishioners gives them a ride to the airport, talking to Bucky like he’s known him as long as he’s known Steve. Bucky just smirks whenever a story starts with _”Steve told us that one time you…_,” and the fact that Steve’s not allowed his previous habitual response of flipping him off makes it even better. 

When they get dropped off at the airport and escorted to the private airfield to where Stark’s plane is waiting for them, Bucky throws his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “We haven’t even left yet and this is the best trip ever.”

Steve elbows Bucky in the ribs. “You’re a horrible human being.”

“You love me.”

“Stockholm syndrome.” Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist and pulls him closer for a quick hug that leaves them both stumbling, laughing when they get to the steps up to the Stark jet. Steve looks it over and shakes his head. “So ostentatious.”

“Says the boy who works for the Catholic church.”

“I work for God.”

“He pay your wages?”

“No, but he pays my rent.” Steve shoves Bucky away and heads up the stairs, stopping at the doorway. Natasha’s standing there, arms crossed over her chest. “Um. Hello. Ma’am.”

She rolls her eyes and looks past him to Bucky. “Really?”

“What? It is absolutely impossible to get anyone ready to meet you, Natasha. Just admit it. You defy description and definition. Let the poor man on the plane.”

She looks Steve up and down slowly, and Bucky watches the blush creep along Steve’s skin, up his neck to his throat to his cheeks to his ears. He has to wonder when the last time a woman looked Steve over like he was dinner, dessert, and breakfast all rolled into one. 

Bucky never lets him see that look.

She holds out her hand. “Natasha Romanoff.”

“Steve Rogers. Er, Father Steve Rogers.”

“Yes. I know.” She steps back to Steve can enter. Bucky follows, giving her a dirty look as he passes her by. She just smiles at him, catlike and knowing. She closes and locks the door before moving into the cabin behind them. There are several seats around the perimeter, and a conference table in the middle. 

Steve’s standing just inside the room looking around. Steve knows about Tony Stark, has even talked to him a couple of times, but Bucky knows that seeing the Stark wealth in all its overstated glory is something completely different. Even knowing about Bucky’s arm doesn’t take away from that. 

“Just wait until you meet the man in person,” Natasha says as she walks past Steve to sit in one of the chairs. “You might want to buckle up. Even he hasn’t managed to find a way to completely make gravity bend to his whims.”

Steve nods, but doesn’t move otherwise until Bucky grabs his arm and leads him over to the seats opposite Natasha. Bucky sits next to him and snaps his seatbelt on. Natasha crosses her legs, watching Steve as he doesn’t watch her. 

“So, why a priest.”

“Natasha.”

“I’m curious. He was military. Now he’s a priest.” She uncrosses her legs and leans forward, raising an eyebrow when Steve meets her gaze. “Let me guess, you send out all your prayers for the troops.”

“_Natasha_.”

“Yes. Because I know what they’re facing. We also send care packages monthly with socks, batteries, baby wipes, books, cookies, and chocolate. When no one’s looking I throw in lube and condoms that I buy online, because they need them, but I don’t need to explain that to the children that help me, or my parishioners who wonder why their priest needs those. I also send each month’s issues of whatever skin magazines I can get, as well as a copy of _Romantic Times_ and _Catholicism Today_.” He smiles at her, wide and open, and Bucky watches Steve’s eyes flash. “Because people sent things at the beginning, but then the news died off, and the world moved on, but they’re still over there. And maybe the care packages help more than my prayers, but I can assure you, Ms. Romanoff, my prayers don’t hurt.”

Natasha gives Bucky a look, and even though he wants to strangle her, the approval in her glance heats him up inside. He hadn’t thought about how much her approving of Steve would mean. 

“Bucky said you were a smartass.”

Steve laughs. “Bucky was not wrong.”

“I’m never wrong.”

Both Natasha and Steve look at him and he flips themboth off. Natasha gasps. “To a _priest_, James. For shame.”

“That’s nothing,” Steve assures her. “Smartass is probably the nicest thing he calls me.”

“Both of you suck.” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and slumps back in his seat, lower lip slid out in a pout. 

“He’s probably going to do that the entire flight.” Steve sighs, shrugs, and looks at Natasha. “How do you know Buck?”

“We served together. After I got out, I started working for Stark Industries. When I found out what happened, I convinced Tony -- and by convinced I mean I told Tony in no uncertain terms -- that Barnes would be the first fitted for his new prosthetics program. Stark eventually, saw reason.”

“Stark is scared of her,” Bucky says.

“I’m pretty sure I understand why.” Steve smiles at Natasha. “I’m scared of her, and she hasn’t even threatened me.”

“Bullshit. You’re not scared of anything.”

“Any friend of Bucky’s is a friend of mine.”

Bucky snorts. “So long as they’ve been properly vetted, run through five different security systems, all of their ex-romantic partners interrogated, and she doesn’t think they’re assholes.”

“Let’s be honest, you have a knack for assholes.” 

Steve nods. “You kinda do, Buck.”

“Shut up. You don't know my life.”

“I have literally known you since you were seven.” Steve gives Bucky a mocking look. “I could not know your life more if I tried.”

“You haven't been in it much since…” Bucky cuts himself off and wants to kick himself when Steve’s smile falls. “Shit. Sorry.”

“No. You’re right.” Steve undoes his seatbelt. “Bathroom in the back?”

“Yeah.” Natasha watches Steve walk away, then levels her sharp green eyes at Bucky. “Was that necessary?”

“It’s true.” He’s being defensive and he knows it. “He’s been communicating with God a hell of a lot more than me for the past nine years.”

“And how does bringing that up accomplish anything?”

“There’s nothing to accomplish.”

She leans across the table, grabbing his chin and making him look at her. “Bullshit yourself all you want, but do _not_ lie to me. You went out there for a reason. What’s kept you from saying the words, James?”

“The fact that it’s going to destroy our friendship?” He hisses. “Is that good enough for you?”

“It won’t. Not if it’s real.”

“He decided to join the goddamned seminary without telling me. He decided to devote his life to the church without once discussing it with me. Maybe it’s not real. Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Natasha sits back, her eyes darting up to look over Bucky’s shoulder. She smiles easily like she and Bucky hadn’t just been fighting. “Would you like a drink, Steve?”

“Thanks, but no. I do have some work to do. Is it okay if I use the table?”

“Of course. James? Drink?”

“I’ll get them.” He stands up and heads toward the back, but he pauses, brushing his fingers over Steve’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Steve shrugs and smiles, and fuck, Bucky hates that look of unconditional forgiveness. “It’s okay. It’s better. The truth. It’s better.” He pulls his laptop out of his bag and Bucky lets it go, heading back to the bar and mixing Natasha’s usual before pouring himself two fingers of Tony’s best scotch. 

He comes back and hands Natasha her drink. He sits down and sips his scotch as he stares out the window, wishing the flight were long enough for him to sleep.

**

“Uncle Bucky!” The doors barely open before Richard and Mark are running up the steps. They come to a dead stop when they see Natasha standing there. “You’re not Uncle Bucky. They only changed his arm.”

She laughs and steps back, letting Bucky walk past her. He grabs the twins and hoists them up in his arms. “Ugh. You guys weigh two tons each. You’ve been working out, haven’t you?”

“Uncle Bucky, can we see your arm? Can we? Mama said we’re not supposed to ask, but it’s a _robot_ arm. Right?” Richard is tugging at the sleeve of Bucky’s hoodie and Mark is staring at Bucky intently.

“You’re not really a robot, are you, Uncle Bucky?”

“No, kiddo. Not even a little.”

“But Mama said you have a robot arm.”

“It’s a metal arm, but it’s not quite a robot.” He gets to the bottom of the stairs and sets them both back on the ground. When he looks up, Rebecca is standing there, holding the niece Bucky’s never met in her arms. 

“You left New York just so you could come back here to see us?”

“I had something I needed to do first.” He drops his gaze. “This Maddie?”

“The one and only.” She takes a step back as he reaches for her. “You can hold her after you say hi to Mom and Dad.”

“How upset are they?”

“On a scale of one to ten? Spinal Tap.”

“Right.” 

“C’mon. Come on, boys.”

“Who’s the lady, Uncle Bucky? Is she your girlfriend?”

“No. That’s Natasha. She’s a friend of mine and Mr. Stark’s.” He’s about to say more when he notices Rebecca looking past him. 

“Is that who I think it is?”

“Becca.”

She strides past Bucky, dodging away from his grip. Steve doesn’t move, a deer in headlights, as Becca advances on him. Becca stands in front of him, and Steve opens his mouth to say something, shutting it as Rebecca’s slap turns his head to the side, and the sound seems to echo around them. 

“How _dare_ you.”

“Becca. I asked him to come.”

“Yeah, well, you’re an idiot when it comes to him.” She doesn’t turn her glare away from Steve. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, you selfish son-of-a-bitch. I don’t know why he doesn’t hate you. You couldn’t even be bothered to come and see him? Let me guess, you prayed for him. Prayed he’d get out of that fucking cave, prayed he’d not have to get his arm amputated, prayed he wouldn’t die on the operating table? Your prayer didn’t do _shit_. You should have _been here_.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just takes Becca’s rant without moving. She slaps him again and Steve closes his eyes. The twins are staring at her with wide eyes, and Bucky can see the pain in Steve’s face even if he knows no one else can. Steve feels pain. He just buries it so deep inside no one can see it. No one but Bucky and that’s just because he spent most of his teenage years learning every reaction, every movement of Steve’s face.

“Rebecca. That’s enough.”

She ignores Bucky with the finesse of a younger sister. “Maybe he’s stupid about you, but none of the rest of us are. You’re not wanted here.”

“_Rebecca_.”

She turns her head and Bucky tilts his to the side toward the twins. They’re staring at Rebecca in a mixture of awe and fear. “Don’t let Mom or Dad see him, unless you want him to find out first hand if his religion is right or not about what happens after death.” She says religion like it’s a dirty word, glaring at Steve all the while. 

She storms off toward the car that’s waiting on the tarmac, grabbing Richard’s hand who grabs Mark’s. Steve is staring straight ahead. 

“Steve…”

Steve shakes his head. “Go see your parents, Buck.”

There is nothing in the world Bucky hates more than the emotionless tone of Steve’s voice. It’s a sure sign he’s been hurt, whether by words or by gunshot. “I didn’t…”

“Yeah.” Steve nods. “You did. But it’s okay. I deserve it.” He grabs the strap of his backpack and tugs it up higher on his shoulder. “I’ll catch a flight home.”

“Steve.”

He shakes his head, not looking at Bucky. “Go see your parents.”

Bucky looks at Natasha who nods, then walks over, hugging Steve tight. Steve doesn’t respond except to lower his head slightly, not quite touching Bucky’s shoulder. “Don’t leave, okay?”

“Go home, Buck.”

**

Bucky stays for a week, and the only time there’s not a heavy pall over everything is when he goes to visit Stark. Natasha’s not there, so it’s just him and Tony. No one’s answering his calls, and Tony’s busy tinkering and rambling about cascading black holes or something Bucky can’t quite follow. It actually takes Bucky a few minutes to realize the room’s gone silent.

“What?”

Tony’s looking at him, uncharacteristically not saying anything. “What’s up?”

“What?”

“You look like your dog just died, you didn’t laugh at my dirty joke, and when I asked if you wanted to sleep with me you didn't even flinch. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And, no. I don’t want to sleep with you. I don’t know where you’ve been. Or, well, worse, I do.” He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Does it have anything to do with big, blond, and beefy?”

“What?”

“Nat told me about the airport and said I had to leave Prince Charming… Father Charming? Father Prince Charming? Whatever. Said I had to leave him alone.”

“He’s _here_?”

“Was for a while. Couldn’t get a flight out, and Pepper needed the jet, so he had to stick around for a few days. Apparently they don’t pay priests very much. Who knew?”

“Pretty much anyone who has a brain. When did he go home?”

“Look, Buckaroo, take it from someone who’s burned pretty much every bridge, including a few physical ones, and let it lie.”

“I can’t.”

He nods. “He’s pretty impressive. Military record, grades, everything. Perfect priest material. Except for the whole gay thing.”

“Tony, you can’t go investig… What?”

“What what?” Tony shakes his head. “I mean, I guess that’s not a dealbreaker anymore with the church. Could be worse. Could be a pedophille. Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay, but really. Bad profession for someone who likes dick.”

“What are you… Steve’s not…”

“Okay, you’re right. He’s probably bisexual.”

“I’m his best friend, and this is news to me. How the _hell_ did you find this shit out?” It’s easier to focus on Tony and shove what they’re talking about to the back of his mind.”Did you do something illegal?”

“Absolutely not. Morally gray, maybe. But do you really think we’d have let you jet off to see someone if Natasha hadn’t run their past through the ringer?”

“_Let me_?”

“Yeah, let you. Technically, according to the government, you were still under my purview until such times as your discharge came through. Which it hadn’t when you flew out to wherever it is Father Prince Charming -- long, but I think that’s what I’m going with -- lives. Not about to let my poster boy get a dishonorable discharge.”

“She… You…” Bucky can’t quite get a full sentence out. Or half a sentence. He’s stuck on pronouns. “He’s been my best friend since I was seven.”

“And, according to Romanoff, he failed to tell you he was joining the priesthood, disappeared from your life --”

“That’s just as much on me!”

“And suddenly you decided you needed to see him.” Tony shrugs. “Part of the whole arm thing is a psych eval.”

“You’ve got no right to demand someone have a psych eval.”

“I wasn’t the one getting the prosthesis. Now stop clenching your fist so that you don’t break anything, especially me.” Tony gets up and goes to a cabinet, pulling out two glasses and a bottle. He sets the glasses down and pours a drink into each of them, nudging one in Bucky’s direction. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“No.”

“Fair.” Tony takes a drink. “Did you really bring him here to let your family go after him?”

“No! No. No. I don’t know.” Bucky rakes both hands through his hair. “Have you ever had someone you know so well -- that you think you know so well -- do something so out of character, so out of what you think they’re about?” 

“Can’t really know another person.”

“Steve went to church. He prayed. He was a good guy. He lived by a set of principles. Lots of people do that. They don’t fucking decide to become a fucking priest.”

“Which are you more pissed about?” Tony takes another drink. He’s serious, which isn’t what Bucky’s used to when it comes to Tony. “That he became a priest specifically or because he wasn’t the person you thought you knew?”

“Fuck you.”

“Or is it the gay thing? That seemed to throw you for a loop.”

“Are you done with my arm?”

Tony looks at the clock. “Technically it’s still my arm for another five hours, but yeah. I’ll give it to you early. Maintenance every six months until the warranty runs out. Not that there’s a warranty. I could sell you one like they do in the stores. A low twelve bucks a month in perpetuity.”

“Hey, Tony. You know what the arm’s really good for?” Bucky flips him off as he stands up. Tony just laughs, which pisses Bucky off even more.

**

Steve opens the door and flinches when he sees Bucky. “Can I come in?” Steve’s smile is more of a grimace as he steps back. Bucky walks in and the room feels different, though he can’t pinpoint why. It might be the tension that’s radiating off Steve like a high-wave frequency. 

“How was your trip?”

“Shitty.” Bucky sighs. “Can we talk a little?”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.” Steve shoves his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders. “I think I’d rather not know how much you hate me, but you have every right to tell me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Bucky moves into the room and sits on the couch so he can look at Steve. He hasn’t moved away from the door. “I did, maybe. Or… No. I was hurt. It _hurt_, Steve. I didn’t know any of this.” He waves his hand around, encompassing the room, the vestments, the church. “You never told me about _any_ of this.”

“It wasn’t deliberate.”

“Maybe not, but why didn’t you tell me? We talked those first two years. We wrote letters. You sent me clean underwear for Christ’s sake.” Steve flinches again and Bucky takes a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I thought I’d be okay with this. I really did. I thought coming here, seeing you… I thought it’d be okay.”

“But it's not.” Steve nods. “Neither of us are the same men we were in a lot of ways. The Steve you knew…” He lets out a shaky breath. “You don’t owe me an apology or an explanation, Buck. I’m sorry if I hurt you. That was never my intention.”

“Is it because you’re gay?”

Steve takes a step back, his face almost identical to how he’d looked after Becca had slapped him. “Excuse me?”

“Is this like, what do you call it, penance? Catholic guilt over who you want so you devote your life to this like it’ll change things?”

“I’m not anything. I gave all of that up.”

“Do you know why I came out here? Why I came to see you?”

Steve shakes his head, and his shoulders hunch further. Bucky can see the kid Steve used to be under the man he became. All the things he hid behind bravado and anger. The pain he refused to let show. The fear. “No.”

“I was in that cave for six fucking months. Tortured in about any and every way you can imagine. I spent that six months thinking about all the things I wished I’d had a chance to say or do, all the things I was going to miss out on. Never see my niece. Never… I wasn’t ever going to see you again, and we hadn’t talked in a couple of years and maybe you hated me, and I was never… Fuck.” He gets up and strides over to Steve, covering the short distance in just a couple of steps. He grabs Steve’s shoulders and pushes him back against the door. Steve’s eyes meet his and Bucky curses under his breath again, then closes the distance between them, kissing Steve.

Steve sucks in a breath, and Bucky takes advantage, deepening the kiss and slipping his tongue between Steve’s parted lips. He tastes like spearmint and hints of coffee, and Bucky moans softly. The noise seems to wake something in Steve and he shoves Bucky back. He’s breathing hard, a wild look in his eyes, his lips wet. 

“What… What was…” He shakes his head and Bucky watches his chest heave with every breath. “I…”

“I’ve been in love with you for most of my life. I never said anything, because I knew you weren’t into guys, knew you weren’t…. But sitting in that fucking cave, I swore to myself that if I got out alive, if I made it through everything, I was going to find you and I was going to tell you how I feel.”

“No. We were best friends.” Steve shakes his head.

“We _are_ best friends.” He steps in again, his hand against Steve’s cheek, thumb stroking his cheekbone. Steve shivers and tries to step back, but he’s still flush against the door. “We have stuff to work out between us, even beyond this, but we are best friends.”

“I’m… I can’t.” Steve blinks rapidly, his lashes fanning against his cheeks. Bucky lifts his thumb and lets the pad of it stroke over them. Steve’s lower lip quivers as he keeps his eyes closed. “You can’t. I can’t. This is… I made a promise. T…” He stops, mouth open, chest hitching as Bucky strokes the back of his hand down Steve’s cheek to his jaw. “T-to...to G-god.”

Bucky leans in, nuzzling his nose against Steve’s. It might be a sob caught in his throat, trapped between them as Steve kisses him. His mouth moves and opens under Bucky’s. He makes a symphony of soft noises and Bucky steps closer, body hard against Steve’s.

“No.” Steve manages to whisper the word between them before pushing Bucky back again. “No. No, Buck. No.” 

Bucky watches Steve’s chest rise and fall rapidly, sees his glazed eyes and dilated pupils. Licking his lips, Bucky takes another step back. His own breathing is rough, and his heart is pounding, his pulse loud in his head. “Okay. Okay.”

“I took vows, Buck. Put man’s world behind me.” His hands keep clenching and unclenching, bunching his jeans in his fists. “I can’t… I…”

“Okay. Okay.” He nods. “It doesn’t change it. How I feel.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Steve shakes his head and there’s the glint of tears in his eyes. “I made a vow.”

“And you wouldn’t be you if you broke it.” Bucky lets out a long, slow breath. “I get it. I do. Can you just tell me something?” Steve nods. He looks like he wants to be sick. “Can you tell me why?”

“Why?”

“This. The church. The priesthood. There wasn’t anything that ever made me think that this was a thing you wanted. So can you tell me why?”

“I can’t explain it. It was just…”

“Faith. Right.” Bucky nods and exhales. “I’m gonna get out of your hair. I hope I didn’t… Shit. Guess I gave you something to confess, huh?”

“You’ve given me all sorts of things to confess in my lifetime.” Steve manages a wobbly smile. “Are you leaving? I mean, leaving town? Going back to New York?”

“I haven’t decided yet, but I’ve got a hotel room in town for now. I’ll let you know.” He smiles at Steve, walking toward the door, but keeping space between them. “What I decide.”

Steve nods and steps back so Bucky can open the door. It’s about to close behind him when Steve grabs it before it can shut. “Buck?”

“Yeah?” He turns and moonlight lights up Steve’s hair, makes his eyes silver. His mouth is still slightly swollen and it takes all of Bucky’s control not to kiss him again.

“Are we still friends? I mean, I assumed when you showed up that everything was okay, and that was probably wrong of me. So things have changed, and I know that, and I know I was stupid for thinking it would all go back to what it was. But… With this.” He licks his lips and closes his eyes, tilting his head backward before opening his eyes and looking at Bucky. “Did I… Did I just break us? For good?”

“You’re an idiot.” Bucky takes two steps back and grabs Steve, wrapping him in a crushing hug. He buries his head against Steve’s shoulder so he won’t be tempted, but he thinks that with the fragility beneath Steve’s strong exterior, even everything he wants from Steve couldn’t make this anything but comfort, because that’s what Steve needs. “It’s gonna take work. I’m not going to lie. But we’re never not going to be friends.”

When Bucky steps back, Steve’s smiling at him. “I’ve missed you. For a really long time.”

Bucky puts his hand over Steve’s face and shoves him back toward the door. “Get your beauty sleep, Rogers. You need it.”

**

He doesn’t sleep. He drifts off and then he’s hit with the scent of his own rotting flesh, the gagging stench of the cave. He sits up, shaking hard, and grabs his pillow, shoving his face in it to catch his scream. He grabs his phone and calls Natasha, not caring about the time difference. 

“Barnes?”

“Nat.” He fights to take a deep breath, but all he can manage is a series of short, shaky ones. “I fucked up.”

“Talk to me.” 

“I told him.” He laughs, high-pitched and wrong. “I told him and I kissed him and, oh fuck, Nat. I ruined everything. And my head is spinning and the room smells like the cave and I can’t breathe.”

“Okay. Okay, James. One thing at a time. Breathe in. Count to three. Breathe out.” She repeats it again and again until his breathing has evened out, until he’s well away from hyperventilating. “Now. You can breathe. Tell me what you see.”

“A really ugly bedspread. An old TV. My hair, which looks awful.”

“Tell me what you feel.”

“The bedspread is rough as well as ugly. I think I can actually feel the ugly.” He laughs weakly. “The sheets are okay. Not soft, because they’re hotel sheets, but not bad. My hand’s smooth. The metal.”

“Good. Good. What do you smell.”

“I don’t want to smell.”

“You’ve been smelling this whole time. Tell me what you smell.” Her voice stays soft, but it doesn’t brook any argument. 

“I think they painted the room recently. And… And I smell like soap. I think my breath stinks.”

“Okay. Better?” 

“Yeah. Yeah. Better.” He exhales and leans back, thumping his head on the wall behind the bed. “What do I do now?”

“Keep breathing.”

He snorts a laugh. “I mean about Steve.”

“I don’t know. You love him, so you should respect his choice, his decision. You did what you went to do. You told him the truth. Anything else is up to him.”

“So I walk away.”

“You don’t have to walk away from him. You just have to let go of whatever romantic future you thought you might have with him. He’s still your friend, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And you guys have a lot to catch up on. Maybe concentrate on that.” She exhales slowly. “Or if that’s too much, come home and figure it out long distance.”

“You think there are any gazillionaires out here who need an executive assistant? Your gig seems pretty good.”

“I have to put up with Stark on a regular basis.”

“Do you get hazard pay?”

She laughs. “I should. I’ll bring it up to Pepper at my next review.” He can hear her smile in her voice. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see what Tony or Pepper might know of out that way in case you decide to stick around.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in love.”

**

He has Steve’s schedule memorized, so he’s careful to come in when he knows there aren’t services or confessions planned. He knows Steve is always on call, but fortunately he’s alone in his office. Bucky knocks on the doorframe. Steve looks up and whatever he had planned on saying dies on his lips.

Bucky nods toward the chair opposite Steve’s desk. “Okay if I come in?”

Steve nods, but he comes out from behind the desk and gestures to two chairs off in the corner. Bucky nods and leads the way over there. He settles in the chair and watches Steve as he sits down. It’s been a few days and he looks like hasn’t been sleeping well.

Bucky lifts the cardboard carrier in his hand. “I come bearing gifts.”

“A regular wise man.”

“Wise ass, maybe. Shit. Can I say that here? Oh, crap. Sorry.”

“Careful, Buck,” Steve says with a laugh. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.” He takes the two coffees out of the carrier, looks at them, then hands one to Bucky. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Steve takes a sip and exhales as he relaxes against the back of his chair. 

Bucky shakes his head. “I never thought I’d feel wrong-footed around you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“You’ve forgiven me?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow and Steve blushes. “Really?”

“You know what I mean.” He hides his face behind the coffee cup as he takes a drink.

“I’m not sure I do, but I’m not going to argue with you if it means I’m not in trouble.”

The blush is still high on Steve’s cheeks, but Bucky’s careful not to look too long. “You’re not. We’re okay.”

“Good. I’d hate to think I ruined everything.”

“We’re best friends. That doesn’t just stop. We’ve been through a lot, and things are always going to happen, going to change, come between us. We don’t have to let that stop us.”

Bucky nods. “Can I ask some questions?”

“Now?” Steve’s voice stays level, but something about his eyes makes him look trapped, cornered.

Bucky glances to the open door. “Later?”

“Yeah. Tonight’s a late night. We could maybe get together tomorrow.”

“Or I could hang around. Your van sounds like it’s being tortured when it’s in reverse. Thought maybe I could take a look at it for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I can’t leave your van to that suffering, and it seems important, so I probably shouldn’t put it out of its misery. At least not permanently. Don’t think you’re going to fit the entire Sunday school class on your Harley.”

“I doubt we have the tools you need.”

“Even if I can’t fix them, I can at least identify the problem. Problems. Plural.”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “Are you going to take no for an answer?”

“I’ve been known to from time to time.” He doesn’t look at Steve, not willing to see his expression. 

“That’s true. Okay, well, you know where the keys are.”

“Great. I’ll get to work on that and then tonight? When you’re done?”

Steve takes a deep breath. “Yeah. We can order pizza maybe.”

“Sounds good.” Bucky stands up and heads out of Steve’s office. He stops once he’s in the hallway and leans against the wall so he can take a deep breath. He’s heard from both his parents and his sister, all of them telling him to come back to New York, that Steve Rogers has already caused him enough problems. 

But the thought of walking away from Steve, even though he knows nothing is going to come of it, makes his chest tight. Of course, so does the thought of staying. 

Logic and common sense are pretty much non-existent when it comes to Steve. He’s been reminding himself that if he stays, he doesn’t have to worry about Steve falling in love with someone else. That had been Bucky’s fear for so long -- that Steve would find someone and Bucky would be replaced as the most important person in Steve’s life. 

Of course if Steve could fall in love with someone, maybe he could fall in love with Bucky.

He bangs his head against the wall before pushing away from it and heading to Steve’s quarters. He grabs the key and goes out to the van. Hopefully the work will take his mind off of Steve. Off of everything. At least for a little while.

**

“Hey.”

Bucky turns his head and sees Steve squatting down beside the van, his legs spread and jeans tight on his thighs. Bucky bites his lower lip and looks away, using his heel to push the makeshift creeper he’d made upward. Steve stays where he is, grinning down at Bucky when his face clears the car. “Have you been working on this all day?”

“Couple of your guys helped. Tools, advice, dinner invitations to meet their daughters. Apparently being a friend of Father Steve’s has its perks.”

“I don’t know that it’s a good thing necessarily. Could be though. Some of them are nice. Pretty.”

“I’m not really looking right now.” He pushes himself the rest of the way out from under the van and gets to his feet. He groans and arches his back, hands just above his hips. “Word to the wise, never lay on a piece of plywood balanced on a skateboard for several hours.”

“I would’ve thought that could’ve gone without saying.”

“Eh.” Bucky shrugs and looks over at Steve. Steve’s looking back at him, eyes roaming up and down Bucky’s bare arms, settling on the sweat-dampened cotton of Bucky’s tank top. Steve swallows hard and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. Bucky doesn’t think Steve realizes he’s watching him, knows Steve doesn’t want Bucky to see his face, his expression.

“Did…” Steve licks his lips and clears his throat. “Do you want to shower?”

Bucky looks down at himself. Smears of grease and oil on his skin are mixed with grit and dirt. “Probably should.”

“I have some stuff you can change into if you want. I promise there’s not a single collar or cassock among them.”

“Sure. Let me just lower this down.” He goes to lower the jack stands that one of Steve’s parishioners had brought over along with an actual set of tools, given that the shed had contained a lug wrench, a set of screwdrivers, an electric drill, and a rubber mallet. “Someone needs to donate some car stuff to your parish. Or some tools at least. How do you function when something breaks down?” 

“That’s why I have parishioners and prayer.”

“Has prayer ever gotten your van fixed?”

“Prayer is an excellent motivator. You’d be surprised at how a plea for help gets people to donate time and resources.”

“Given the state of your van, I think you’re falling down on the guilt aspect of it all.” Bucky wipes his hands on his tank top, knowing it’s beyond help. 

“Well, the bike is new, and my own talents lie more toward construction.”

“A carpenter, just like your dude.”

“Please don’t refer to Jesus as a dude.”

“Is he not a dude?” Bucky grins and pulls his tank top off as he heads back to Steve’s quarters. “Bro maybe?”

“You’re a horrible person, I hope you know that.” Steve follows him, and Bucky glances over his shoulder to stick his tongue out at him. Steve doesn't catch it, his gaze not on Bucky in a way that seems very deliberate. 

“So I’ve been told.” Bucky nods at the doorknob and holds up his greasy hands. “Be a gentleman?”

Steve rolls his eyes and opens the door, bowing as he sweeps his arm out to invite Bucky inside. Bucky snorts and heads for the bathroom. Steve follows him, crowding into the room behind him. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath, his chest hitching as Steve goes down on his knees. He’s able to exhale when Steve opens the cabinet and digs inside it, pulling out a jar of Vaseline.

“Do I want to know what that’s for?” The joke that Vaseline isn’t good as lubrication sits on his tongue, but the look Steve gives him as he stands makes it clear that Steve knows what Bucky wants to say and that Bucky should very much not say it.

“Oil gets rid of oil. Wash your hands, then use this.”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky gives him a brisk salute and Steve scoffs. “Hey, I’m just showing proper respect. Captain Father Rogers.”

“Father Captain Rogers. Get it right.” Steve moves around Bucky, and Bucky stiffens again as he brushes past him to the cabinet above the toilet, getting out a bath towel and a hand towel. “Work on that and I’ll get you some clothes.”

Bucky bites his tongue as Steve moves behind him again, reminding himself that Steve is his friend, and he’s chosen to stay here and act like his friend and be his friend, and he is not going to want and wish and fantasize about Steve at all. “Thanks.”

Steve nods and goes to his dresser, squatting down and opening the bottom drawer. Bucky gets caught for a moment, watching as Steve’s slacks pull taut over his ass before he forces himself to focus on washing his hands. 

He rinses off the soap suds then digs two damp fingers into the Vaseline just as Steve walks back in. The jelly is thick and slick on his fingers as Steve slips past him again to put the clothes on the closed lid of the toilet. He’s fairly certain if he bites his tongue any harder he’s going to be tasting blood, because the press of Steve’s body and the sight of his fingers slicked up is almost too much.

“You know what you want?”

“Hmm?” The noise comes out high-pitched and embarrassing. 

“On your pizza.”

“Oh. Oh.” He focuses on scrubbing his hands, working the Vaseline over his skin and _not_ thinking. “Usual?”

“Will do.” Steve slips out of the bathroom and Bucky pushes the door closed with his foot. He rinses off the Vaseline as quickly as he can. He doesn’t quite get it all, but he doesn’t care as he undoes his jeans and kicks them off, shoving his boxers briefs down and grabbing hold of his cock. He has no intention of masturbating in Steve’s bathroom, except the slick remains of the Vaseline makes his hand slide along the shaft, and the memory of Steve’s hands on his hips as he slipped behind him is too much.

“Fuck.” He whispers, stumbling in the shower and bracing himself on the tile wall as he starts to stroke. He bites his lower lip hard, desperate to keep in the sounds. Closing his eyes, it’s easy to bring up the memory of Steve from when they served together -- the tanned skin, broad shoulders, defined abs, the trail of water and soap that slipped through the dark blond hairs around his cock, down his length. 

Bucky’s tongue feels thick and he can’t breathe as he tightens his hand, speeds up. They way Bucky had needed a spotter on one shot and Steve had lain on top of him, and it was all Bucky could do to hit the target. And now, knowing Steve is gay, that he’s been with men, and that Bucky was an idiot for so long just pushes him over the edge. 

He gasps as he comes, letting his forehead thump against the wall. His whole body shakes, tremors like aftershocks beneath his skin. It takes several moments for him to catch his breath and to slowly push away, making sure he has his balance before he kicks off his boxer briefs and closes the shower door. He turns the water on, the blast of cold perfect on his too-hot skin, though he’s shivering by the time it gets warm. 

He’s still shivering, still riding the high of his orgasm, as he cleans up, scrubbing his body with Steve’s bath gel, smelling like him. He dries off and gets dressed in the clothes Steve left -- boxer briefs, jeans, socks, sweater, and fuck, Bucky is going to have to jerk off at least once more before the end of the night --and scrubs his hair with the towel as he walks out.

Steve’s sitting on the bed, leaning back on his hands, and heat flashes Bucky’s skin as he wonders if Steve heard him, if he _listened_. He’s dressed in a heather gray T-shirt that fits snug on his biceps, tight across his chest. “Pizza should be here in twenty.”

“Awesome. Tell me you have beer.”

“Sorry. Just the communion wine.” 

“Which is grape juice. If I have to go to the store, I’m taking the bike.”

“Relax. There’s beer.” 

Bucky goes to the kitchenette and pulls out two beers, using his metal hand to open both. Steve laughs. “You’re going to do that in bars and make half the people there swoon.”

“Just half?”

Well, there’s always a possibility there will be straight people there.”

“Nice segue.” Bucky needs to broach this, even though it’s very likely Steve doesn’t want to. He brings the beers over, hands one to Steve and sits down in the chair while Steve settles on the loveseat. “Apparently corporate espionage paranoia is rampant at Stark Industries, so Tony and Natasha… Did a little investigating.”

“Ah.” Steve stares down into his beer. “That.”

“Which I wholly condemn, by the way, and if I’d known they were going to do that, I would have stopped them. I don’t condone them invading your privacy.”

“But.”

“But.” Bucky takes a sip of his beer, then looks at Steve. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re good at being honest about those kinds of things. I’m not. I never have been.” He still hasn’t taken a drink, is still staring into the bottle. “Besides, by the time I really figured it out, you’d gone off to Iraq. I wasn’t about to write you and tell you I’d enlisted, oh, and by the way, I’m gay. Maybe keep that on the downlow since they’ll kick my ass out before I even start if you tell anyone.”

“When you were there. When we were sitting there on watch, laying in fucking graves side by side. Why not then?”

“Because what good would it have done? What did it matter?”

“I don’t know. So you weren’t keeping this secret inside you. Because I’m your best friend. Because I told you when I figured it out because I needed you to… Be there. Support me.”

“You were fourteen. I was twenty-one.”

“Yeah, well, l think that figuring out you’re gay at twenty-one is still maybe as life-altering as figuring out you’re bisexual at fourteen.” Bucky takes another drink followed by a deep breath. “Sorry. I just… I would have liked to hear it from you, and not from Tony Stark, you know?”

“Yeah. Yes. I’m sorry.” He finally takes a drink of his beer. “This isn’t penance.”

“Then can you explain it to me? Please?” Bucky gets up and moves to sit next to Steve. “You’re my best friend, and I feel like you’ve been hiding everything from me, and I don’t know how to feel about that. Being gay. Wanting to be a priest. I keep looking for clues that I missed, things I missed. Wondering if I ever really knew you. Wondering if I made you think you couldn’t trust me.”

“No. No. You didn’t. I trust you.” Steve sets his beer down on the coffee table and turns, one knee on the couch so he can look at Bucky. “I don’t know how to explain how I got here. I came home, and I was so messed up. Couldn’t sleep. Nightmares. Couldn’t eat. I lost forty pounds. On top of the weight I’d lost in the desert.”

“Jesus, Steve.”

Steve rolls his eyes and Bucky shrugs his apology. “I was walking. It was probably three in the morning. I’d had a horrific nightmare -- the guy in Fallujah that I shot -- and I felt like the blood was still all over my face. There was a church, and I thought, why not? And the door was open, and what church’s door is open at three?”

Bucky remembers what Steve’s talking about. They’d been dealing with an interpreter who was arguing with a local man. The man had stabbed the interpreter, Khalifa, and then run at Steve. Steve had reacted, shot him point blank, and ended up covered in blood and bone and brain matter, lines of it streaking down his face. Bucky had cleaned him off, and then cleaned him up after he’d vomited, which had, at least, washed the blood from between his teeth.

“I went in and… I don’t know. Broke. Crying. Choking with it. And I kept thinking how could God allow this? How could He… But it’s not God. It’s men. He’s their excuse and their justification. And I didn’t know what to do.”

Bucky sets his beer down as well and reaches over, taking Steve’s hand in his. Steve gives him a weak smile and leans in, resting his forehead against Bucky’s. 

“And then my brain just started spinning. I kept thinking that I needed help. I _obviously_ needed help. And I was in church, so I could just think of ‘the Lord helps those who help themselves’ and ‘physician heal thyself’ and all these stupid trite phrases. But then I thought maybe there was something to it. Maybe i needed help, and maybe to get it, I needed to figure myself out.”

“So you decided to go back to school?”

“Ha. No. Not quite. I went out the next night, got drunker than I’ve ever been and picked up two guys in a bar.”

“...oh.”

“And I woke up and realized I make terrible choices when I’m drunk, because they were _not_ cute. So I slipped out before they woke up. Then I went home and on the subway I saw this ad for school. And I looked into it.”

“To be a priest.”

“To be a psychologist.”

“This is very convoluted, even without the turn into threesomes.”

“I went to school for psychology, but thought I’d take a religion course to see if it helped. See if maybe Iraq hadn’t crushed my faith in people, in God. And I liked it. I liked how it felt, what it said, what it stood for. How _I_ felt. So I took a few more classes. And then you came home. Right after I’d declared my major.”

“I guess the whole father, son, and holy ghost thing carries on the threesome vibe.”

Steve coughs, choking on a laugh. “Why do I put up with you?”

“My charming personality and good looks?”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.”

There’s a knock on the door and Bucky takes several deep breaths as Steve pays for the pizza. He still doesn’t understand, still feels lost and confused and wants some of it to make sense. He watches Steve walk back and takes the pizzas from him as he goes to get plates. When he sits back down, Bucky waits until they’ve both eaten a little to talk again.

“And you love it?” Steve nods after a moment and Bucky takes a few more bites. “And how do you reconcile it? With your sexuality?”

“I gave up my sexuallity.”

“Your church actively stands against homosexuality, Steve. You may have given up sex, but that doesn't mean you’re not still gay. There are plenty of religions that allow you to be a leader and still live your life and be gay or bi or whatever. Why this? Why a Catholic priest?”

“I’m Catholic.”

“If he made you, made you who and what you are… Why shouldn’t they accept that? Why should they condemn you? You think this is going to make you stop wanting to be with men? Stop wanting men?”

“It’s not about wanting. You give up the sins of the flesh and devote your life to Him. It’s no different than if a straight man became a priest.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, shaking his head. “What would happen? If they knew?”

“They don’t know.”

“If they did. A bishop or pope or whatever finds out you're a straight man who has devoted his life to God, they’re cool. What would they do if they knew, Steve?”

“I’m celibate. I confess the sin of wanting and who I am, but I _serve God_. I am celibate and devout and He gives me the strength to resist temptation. In the eyes of the church I’m sexless. I am given to God.”

Bucky forces himself to unclench his fists. Both he and Steve are flushed, agitated. Steve’s leg is back on the loveseat between them, and his foot is bouncing steadily. “Okay. Okay.” Bucky leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, bowing his head and raking his fingers through his hair. “Okay.”

“Buck.”

“I'm trying. I really am. I’m trying to make all of this make sense in my head. I want you to be happy. I want you to live the life you want. I want you to… I just want to understand, and I can’t wrap my head around it. Any of it. I thought I knew you, but I didn’t. I don’t.”

“You do.”

“No. No, because all of this? Doesn’t make sense. This church _hates_ what you are.”

“I’m more than just who I want to have sex with.”

“I know that. But would they look past that?” 

“It doesn’t matter. This is my life now. I’m sorry if it upsets you, and I’m sorry if it doesn’t make sense to you, but it doesn't have to make sense. Not to you. I just need you to respect the fact that this is what it is.”

“Yeah. Okay. Well.” He slaps his hands on his thighs. “I should get out of here. I’m still looking to see if I can find a job. If I do, I’ll probably stick around for a while. I’ll come back and work on the van some more, bring your clothes back.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Like you said. It’s who you are. It’s not my place to understand it.” He gets to his feet and heads for the door where he’d kicked off his shoes when he’d come inside. “I’ll see you around.”

Steve stands up and walks to the door. He reaches out and puts a hand on Bucky’s arm. “Please don’t walk away mad.”

“I’m not mad. Different worlds, different lives. Like you said. Neither of us are the same people we were. Maybe I should just go home to New York. We can email and text, right?”

“Yeah.” Steve looks lost when Bucky glances at him. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Good. Okay. Well. Night, Steve.”

“Yeah. G’night.” 

**

Bucky lies on the hotel bed staring up at the ceiling. His hands are buried in his hair, his nails digging into his skin. He did what he came to do. He didn’t know Steve was gay when he came out to tell him how he felt, so not being with Steve is exactly the way he expected this to end. He has no right to be upset or angry or hurt.

He knew Steve was a priest. Knew Steve was stubborn. None of this is an unexpected outcome. And he honestly can’t tell if the priest thing bothers him because he doesn’t understand it or if it’s because being gay makes it make even less sense. Or maybe he’s jealous. Because the life Steve has now means that their friendship has changed. Steve’s job is a life commitment. It’s without breaks or vacation days. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” 

He needs to get up, get out of Steve’s clothes, and shower the smell of Steve’s body wash off of him. He needs to pack his bags and go the fuck home. He’s trying to will himself to stand up when there’s a knock on the door.

He goes to the door and looks out the peephole, eyebrows going up when he sees Steve standing there. Bucky opens the door, head tilted in confusion. Steve’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and his leather jacket. He looks like he’s a rubber band stretched tight enough to snap.

Bucky steps back. “C’mon in.”

Steve nods brusquely. “Thanks.” He moves past Bucky and goes over to the window. Bucky shuts the door and moves back into the room. Steve watches him, and there’s something in his eyes that Bucky can’t quite fathom. 

“Everything okay?” Steve shakes his head, and Bucky nods. “You want to talk about it?”

He nods this time, walking over to where Bucky’s standing at the end of the bed. Once he’s right in front of him Steve stops, shaking his head again. “No.”

“Okay. I’m a little at a loss then.”

Steve nods, keeps nodding, and then he reaches up and places his hand against the back of Bucky’s neck and pulls him in, their mouths slotting together. Bucky gasps in surprise, but sinks into the kiss willingly. Steve’s hand holds him so he can’t move, and his other one slides around his waist, holding Bucky close.

Bucky shivers and tries to press closer. He hooks a leg around the back of Steve’s and arches into him. Steve groans low in his throat and pulls back, biting Bucky’s lower lip before releasing it and kissing him again. Bucky slides one arm around Steve’s neck and the other clenches Steve’s shirt against his hip. 

Steve’s hand slides up, cupping the back of Bucky’s head. He cradles it, tilting it so he can deepen the kiss, tongue slipping between Bucky’s lips to slide along his tongue. Bucky moans into Steve’s mouth and tugs Steve’s shirt up, settling his hand on Steve’s side, his skin hot against his palm.

Bucky presses closer, wanting more. Needing more. Steve drops his hands to Bucky’s waist and then to his ass, gripping him tightly and lifting him up.

Bucky breaks the kiss and buries his face against Steve’s throat. “Oh, shit.”

Steve carries him to the bed, kneeling down as he settles Bucky on the mattress. Steve leans closer, nuzzling Bucky’s jaw, working his way down to his throat. Bucky’s head falls back as Steve sucks a line of kisses down to the collar of Bucky’s shirt.

Bucky wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, his arms around his shoulders. “Fuck. Yes. St-Steve.”

Steve pulls back, breaking Bucky’s hold on him. The ring of blue around his pupils is practically non-existent, and his mouth is spit-slick and swollen, like something out of Bucky’s fantasies.

Bucky licks his lips, a low rumbling sound in his chest as Steve watches. He rubs his hands up and down Bucky’s thighs, not looking away. Bucky just stares, heart pounding in his chest, pulse roaring in his ears.

He tightens his legs around Steve’s waist and pulls him even closer, kissing him hard. He bites and licks and sucks, wanting to devour Steve.

Steve kisses him back just has hungrily. He moans roughly, the sound vibrating against Bucky’s lips. Bucky catches Steve’s lower lip between his teeth, letting go when he gasps as Steve’s hands undo the button of Bucky’s fly.

“Steve.” He gives Steve a biting kiss, grabbing his shoulders as Steve undoes the zipper. He uses Steve’s shoulders as leverage, lifting his hips off the bed as Steve tugs at his jeans. Finally Bucky lies back on the bed and lifts up so Steve can strip off his jeans and boxer briefs.

Steve exhales shakily and leans in, resting his forehead against Bucky’s upper thigh. He can feel every hot breath on his skin, feel the brush of Steve’s long eyelashes.

Bucky lifts himself to his elbows, reaching out with a trembling hand to stroke his fingers through Steve’s bangs. “Steve.”

Steve shakes his head at Bucky’s whisper, kissing the sensitive skin of Bucky’s inner thigh before turning his head to nuzzle the base of Bucky’s cock. Bucky slumps back down on the bed, mouth open, trying to get air as Steve nuzzles, as his tongue darts out and tastes Bucky’s skin.

“O-h. Oh. O-oh.” He bites his lower lip, but it doesn’t stop the gasps that escape with every touch of Steve’s mouth.

“Bucky,” Steve whispers against the tip of his cock, and then takes the head of Bucky’s cock into his mouth, sucking firmly.

“Oh fuck yes.”

Steve mouth keeps moving, hot and tight; then he opens wider and swallows Bucky deeper.

Bucky grabs the comforter with both hands, but he can’t stop his hips from jerking up. He feels Steve’s gag reflex as his throat closes around him, but rather than backing off, Steve holds Bucky’s cock there with his tongue and the roof of his mouth, swallowing wet and noisy.

Bucky falls back onto the bed, still clenching the comforter in his fists. Steve’s mouth is hot around him, almost too hot as he sucks, not letting up as Bucky squirms beneath him. Steve’s hands settle on Bucky’s thighs, holding him still. 

Bucky manages to raise himself up again, watching as Steve opens his eyes, his lashes dark as he looks up at Bucky through them. Bucky’s breath gets caught in his chest and he brings one hand out to brush a damp lock of hair off Steve’s forehead again. Steve is beautiful, his mouth stretched around Bucky’s dick, spit gathered in the corners of his lips, the bright glint of tears in his eyes.

Bucky thrusts his hips up and Steve hums, sending vibrations jolting along Bucky’s cock. He groans and brushes his fingers over Steve’s cheek to feel the hard length of his cock inside his mouth. It’s everything Bucky’s every dreamed of, ever thought about. 

Steve grabs Bucky’s leg, guiding it up so it’s draped over his shoulder. Bucky whines deep in his throat and his hips jerk. He’s so close, his balls tight against his body. Steve shifts closer, takes Bucky deeper than he thought possible, and Bucky arches off the bed, coming hard.

Steve sucks him down until Bucky can’t take any more, gasping and desperate. It’s too much for his body, for his brain, and he thinks he’ll shake apart if Steve doesn’t stop. Steve pulls back slowly, Bucky’s cock lingering at the wet curve of his lower lip before he eases back and lets it fall. 

Steve rests his head back against Bucky’s thigh, and, as he sits up shakily, Bucky runs his fingers up and down the back of Steve’s neck. Steve’s quiet for a long time, and then Bucky can hear him, voice soft. It takes a moment to realize Steve’s not talking.

He’s praying.

For forgiveness.

Bucky stiffens, and he can sense the moment Steve realizes it. He moves back, looking at Bucky with wide eyes. He can’t decipher the look in them, but whatever it is, Bucky knows it’s not anything he wants to see. Even so, he reaches out and goes to touch Steve’s jaw. “Steve.”

Steve jerks back and scrambles to his feet, nearly falling over himself. Bucky can see that he’s still hard, his jeans tight over his obvious erection. He backs up as Bucky stands, then turns, bolting out of the room without a word.

Bucky walks to the door and leans his forehead against it as he turns all of the locks. “Goodbye, Steve.”

**

He’s surprised he’s actually tired but his orgasm and a hot shower, not to mention the riot of his emotions since he opened the door to Steve, leave him exhausted. He stretches out on the bed and closes his eyes. He’ll get a flight in the morning. Go back to New York and figure out where his life goes from here.

He sleeps, waking up feeling no better rested. He might actually feel worse. He calls and can’t get on a flight, but he grabs his things, grabs Steve’s borrowed clothes, and checks out. He’ll make the one stop and then find a place to rent a car and drive home. 

He walks into the church, and it’s quiet. He still has Steve’s schedule memorized so he’s not surprised. He glances at the altar, at the cross and the crucified Jesus on it. He stares at it for a minute. He’s never going to understand Catholicism, Steve’s devotion. Religion he understands. Faith. But he didn’t understand Steve’s choice when he first made it, and he thinks he understands it even less now.

He just wishes that last night’s events didn’t mean that he and Steve are pretty much at the end of the line. Shaking his head, he leaves the chapel and sets the pile of clothes outside of Steve’s office door. He heads back to the chapel, to the main doors. He’s ready to open them when Steve’s voice stops him.

“Buck.”

Bucky turns and looks, watching as Steve comes down off the dais. He’s in full regalia, and Bucky suddenly can’t remember the day of the week, or the schedule he had so well memorized fifteen minutes ago. “I’m leaving.”

“Oh.” Steve stops. “Oh. I mean. Of course. You’re leaving.” There’s something soft and sad in Steve’s voice, accepting and resigned. “Be safe.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Bucky wants to be angry. Wants to be upset that Steve’s voice makes him think he’s in the wrong. But he can’t, because he can’t look away from Steve’s eyes and the look he hasn’t seen there in years. He’s only ever seen it twice -- once when Steve’s mom died, and once when the woman Steve asked to marry him said no and basically made it clear she was with him because he looked the way he did.

It’s ironic. He’d never seen the look in Steve’s eyes before puberty hit him like a Mack truck and took Steve from short and skinny to tall and built, but just as gorgeous, even though no one seemed to see it until he had the body that made them take notice.

Steve looks defeated.

Bucky exhales slowly. Steve would throw himself on a grenade for Bucky -- had in fact, thankfully a dud -- and Bucky knows he can and will do no less.

“I have some time. Did you need something?”

“Can we go to my --” He pauses and then nods. “To my quarters?”

“We can’t talk in your office?”

Steve blushes bright red. “I’d rather not talk about this there.”

“Ah.” Bucky nods. “Sure. Makes sense.”

”Thanks.” Steve leads the way, and as soon as they’re inside his place, strips off his vestments and cassock and hangs them up. “Sorry. Baptism this morning.”

“Gotta wear the uniform, right?”

His black slacks and dress shirt fit him in sinful ways, and it’s probably a good thing he wears the cassock for the sanity and hormones of at least half his congregation. “Do you want some coffee or anything?”

“Steve.”

“Right. Okay. Sorry.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, which pulls the fabric tight across his crotch. “About… About last night.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s forgotten. Say your confession. I’m sure the big guy will forgive you.”

Steve seems to freeze for a second before he nods and steps back. Bucky hadn’t even noticed he’d moved closer. “Okay. Well.” He swallows hard. “Thanks.”

He steps back again, and Bucky’s way to the door is clear. “Was there something else you wanted to say?”

Steve frowns at the floor and is quiet so long, Bucky takes a step toward the door. Steve’s voice actually startles him. “The first time I suspected I might be gay. The first inkling. It was senior prom. Yours, not mine.”

“You didn’t go to that one.”

“No.”

“So I’m not following.”

“You wore that tux, remember? You and Sam got them, remember? Rented the Armanis like you had money?”

“Yeah. We were idiots.”

“I helped you guys get ready.”

“Please swear to me that this isn’t going to end up with you telling me that Sam Wilson was the start of your sexual awakening.”

“You lost a bet. I don’t even remember what it was. Something about the basketball team. And so you wore those panties, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” The bet was over a dumb prank, some trouble they’d gotten themselves into. And so Bucky had ended up in a pair of lacy panties that someone had borrowed or stolen. Bucky didn’t ask too many questions, but he did insist on washing them first. Because he knew teenage boys. “Those things itched like crazy.”

“You were wearing them, but kept complaining, so you walked around with your pants on and open, and…” Steve exhales and very studiously doesn’t look at Bucky.

“Are you…”

“I couldn’t stop staring. And, I mean, I’d seen you naked before, so it shouldn’t have been any kind of big deal, so I thought, well, maybe it’s just some fetish or something. Maybe it’s an aesthetic thing. But I kept looking at you. And getting these… getting…”

“Hard?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, you were dating Carolyn at the time, and I figured maybe I just had a lingerie thing. Maybe I was just horny.” He shakes his head. “And I didn’t want it. I was going to join the Army. Being gay in the Army was a dumb thing to be. And you were my best friend. And then I met Diane. And I wanted to marry her. I just… I just didn’t want her. Or love her, I guess. In the long run.”

“Jesus, Steve.”

“I thought marrying her, being with her would mean it was just some phase or something. That I could at least… But I was lying to myself. I just didn't want it to be true. I was supposed to give my mom grandchildren. I was supposed to…” Steve sighs and walks over to the chair, sinking down and putting his head in his hands.

“Your mom wouldn’t have cared. Sarah loved you unconditionally. And I know you don’t believe -- didn’t believe -- that I'd care.”

“It’s funny. I’m not sure if I was more in denial about being gay or about being in love with my best friend. Like some bad rom-com.”

“Nah. Rom-coms start with antagonists.” Bucky isn’t sure he’s breathing properly. He feels lightheaded, so he sinks down on the love seat. “I thought you said you were twenty-one.”

“I didn’t… It’s been since high school. Twenty-one was when I finally actually admitted it to myself.”

“We could have talked about it.” Steve shrugs and Bucky gets up, unable to sit still. He heads to the kitchen, determined to get a beer.

“Freezer.”

Bucky open it and pulls out the bottle of vodka he finds there. Grabbing two glasses, he comes back and pours some out for each of them. He takes a couple sips, then sets his glass down. “So you decided to accept it at twenty-one. Why not tell me then?”

“Like you said. I was afraid I would ruin our friendship. And then you got together with Duncan. Who was a dick.”

“Yeah. I know.” Bucky laughs weakly. “And now?”

“And now.” Steve throws back the rest of his vodka. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

“For?”

“Last night.”

Bucky smiles tightly. “Are you really sorry?”

“What we did. No, what I did.” Steve closes his eyes tight. “I broke vows.”

“I know how your church views what happened. I know you feel like you betrayed God or Jesus or Him or you or whatever. But I asked if _you’re_ sorry.” He’s not yelling, but his voice is hard and raised slightly. “You came to me. So tell me, Steve. Are you sorry?”

“It feels - right now it like I’ve lost you. Lost everything. Destroyed it.” Steve’s staring at the floor. “If that’s what I did, then yes. But…”

He looks up and meets Bucky’s eyes. His expression is raw, his eyes dark. Bucky doesn’t dare let himself hope. “But?”

“Knowingly or not, I’ve been in love with you most of my life.”

“Okay.” Bucky walks around the coffee table and stands in front of Steve. He has no more idea of what he’s doing now than he did that morning, the whole time he’s been here. Steve bows his head, letting the top of it rest against Bucky’s stomach.

Bucky pulls Steve up to his feet. Frowning slightly, he releases Steve’s hand, then raises his own up, tracing his fingertips over Steve’s cheek. Steve's eyes flutter closed and he swallows hard. Bucky watches as his Adam’s apple bobs with it. Steve’s lips part, and his lower lip trembles ever so slightly. Bucky lets his fingers slip down, smoothing over it to still it. He leaves his fingers there, resting without pressure. 

Steve exhales, breath shuddering out of him. His lips part further, and he sways slightly, closer to Bucky. “Tell me you want this, Stevie.”

His inhale is shaky as well, but he nods, blinking his eyes open to meet Bucky’s gaze. “I want this. I want you. So much.”

Bucky's fingers move off his lips so he can curve his hand around the nape of Steve’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s like the first one, slow and tentative at first and then melting into something warm and willing. Steve’s hand settles in the small of Bucky’s back as he tilts his head, letting Bucky deepen the kiss.

Bucky can taste the vodka on Steve’s tongue as he sucks on it. His free hand slips between them, fingers tugging Steve’s shirt free of his slacks, undoing the buttons from the bottom up. Steve makes a small noise every time Bucky’s knuckles brush against the ribbed cotton of his undershirt, and Bucky swallows them with every kiss. When he pulls back, Steve’s shirt is held closed by the top button of his shirt, and the starched, stiff white collar. He looks at it, then at Steve. 

Steve’s eyes are dark, his lips parted, his breath heavy. Bucky stares at him, watches Steve stare back. After an endless moment, Bucky reaches down and grabs the hem of his own T-shirt and pulls it off over his head and drops it on the chair behind him. Steve’s eyes drop down and his gaze is as hot as a touch as it works its way over Bucky’s chest, his abs, his stomach, the dark trail of hair that disappears into his jeans. 

Steve looks back up, staring into Bucky’s eyes as he reaches behind him and lifts his collar. He pauses and lets out another shaky breath, then closes his eyes. Bucky doesn’t know if Steve’s praying, if there’s a ritual behind the collar, but he’s silent. The air feels weighted, as if this moment, more than anything they’ve done or are about to do, is the Rubicon. 

Eyes still closed, Steve bows his head slightly, his fingers carefully unhooking the black metal stud that holds the collar together. He holds the clean white fabric in his hands between their bodies, then carefully closes it with the stud again and turns, setting it on the coffee table. When he turns back around and looks at Bucky, his eyes are wide, uncertain, scared. 

“We can stop,” Bucky whispers, because the moment feels like a prayer of its own. It feels holy in a way that doesn’t make sense, because setting aside the collar for this, setting all of this aside is Steve breaking a vow. Willingly. Knowingly. 

For Bucky.

Steve shakes his head and looks up. “No. I don’t… I don’t want to stop. It’s you. How can I stop? How could I want to?”

The reality that Steve is breaking his vow _for him_ is nothing compared to the realization Bucky has in that moment, that he’s the only one Steve would ever break any vow for. It’s just as telling that Bucky knows he would do no less.

He carefully brings his hands back to Steve’s shirt and unbuttons the last button. It hangs open, and he stares at the collar of Steve’s undershirt as he takes the time to unbutton the cuffs, sliding Steve’s shirt off carefully and draping it onto the back of the chair behind him. 

Steve stands there without moving until Bucky’s facing him again. Bucky presses his fingers in the middle of Steve’s chest, his hand sliding along the fabric of his undershirt as Steve reaches behind his head to tug it up and off. He drops it down on the table behind him where it lands on top of the vodka bottle, partially covering Steve’s collar. Bucky’s fingers are still on his chest and his whole body feels weak. 

“If God made man in his own image, he is _really_ hot.”

Steve stares, blinks, snorts, and then starts cracking up. He acts like he’s going to say something, then stops, shaking his head and laughing more. “You’re the worst.”

Bucky traces Steve’s smile with his thumb. “I wanted to see this.”

Steve closes his eyes, still smiling, then presses a light kiss to Bucky’s thumb. Bucky slides his hand to Steve’s jaw and pulls him in again for another kiss. Steve moves closer so they’re chest to chest, bare skin against bare skin. Bucky can feel the hard brush of Steve’s nipples, and shivers at the sensation of his own brushing against Steve’s chest hair. 

“Oh,” Bucky moans quietly. His nipples tighten more, a tight ache in his chest. Steve closes the slight distance between them and bites lightly at Bucky’s lower lip, then sucks it into his mouth, licking at it between his lips. Bucky presses the flat of his hand against Steve’s chest, then slides it across his pec to the nub of his nipple, swiping his thumb across it in a slow, lazy arc.

Steve’s hips jerk and he releases Bucky’s lip to let his head fall back, gasping softly. His back arched like his neck, and Bucky bends his head to lick at Steve’s other nipple before sucking on it, catching it between his teeth and lashing it with his tongue. Instead of brushing the other one, he pinches the nipple, feeling it redden and harden further. 

Steve’s hand is hard against Bucky’s thigh, fingers curled around one of his belt loops. The tightness of his body is like corded steel under his skin, so Bucky opens his mouth and, instead of taking the nipple between his lips again, he spreads his jaw and takes more skin and bites.

“O-oh. Bucky. Buck…” Steve groans and pushes Bucky away. He stands there, hands fisted at his sides, his head bowed as he takes in huge gulps of air. “Just… Just…” 

Bucky stands there, torn between hurt and anger and confusion, as Steve’s breathing slowly regulates. “You said you want this.”

“I do. I do. I just…” He leans forward and presses his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder. “I haven’t… I haven't… Fuck.” He laughs, the sound broken. “I’m gonna come in my slacks in about five seconds.”

“Wow. I’m that good?”

Steve turns his head so his mouth is near Bucky’s throat, his breath hot against it. “It’s been five years. Since I started seminary.”

“Since you’ve been with someone?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “Since I’ve… Since I’ve touched myself.”

Bucky groans. “You’re kidding. You’ve _got_ to be kidding.”

Steve’s voice stays at a whisper. “When you feel these desires, my son, when you think of these images in your head, you must pray. Do as the Lord would ask of you, do not give in to the Devil and the temptation of the flesh. Pray to the Lord for strength and for guidance. It is the Devil in those dreams.”

The confession settles into Bucky’s skin, and he rubs his hand up and down Steve’s arm slowly, soothing.

“I close my eyes and he’s there in front of me. Wanting me. Wanting to touch me. To feel me. Wanting me to feel him. I want to be on my knees before him like I'm praying for his hands, his mouth, his tongue, his cock. I want to feel him in and on every inch of me. I want to be filled with him, surrounded by him.” Steve nuzzles Bucky’s throat, kissing again sporadically. He works his way up, nipping his earlobe before his voice ghosts across his ear. “I want to breathe his name with reverence. Your name, Buck. These are my sins. Of which I can’t seem to repent. The sin I revel in. The sin I deny myself.” He nuzzles him again, breath like a hot secret. “I want you. I love you.”

Bucky groans and grabs Steve’s head, holding him still so he can turn and kiss him, mouth hungry and possessive. He starts walking Steve backward, glad there’s next to no furniture in the small apartment, that it’s only a few feet until they're in Steve’s bedroom, until he has Steve stretched out on the bed, sprawled half-naked on the comforter, open and exposed already even before he’s completely unclothed. 

Steve’s black slacks are tight around his cock, and Bucky makes quick work of Steve’s belt and fly to get them undone and off of him. Steve’s underwear come off too along with Steve’s shoes and socks so he’s completely bare. Steve’s staring up at him with wide, glazed eyes, unashamed of his nakedness. Bucky doesn’t know what to do next, what to do _first_. 

Steve slides his hand down his stomach toward his cock and Bucky shakes his head. “No.” He croaks the word, then swallows to wet his throat. “No. You’ve waited so long to touch yourself, but I’ve waited longer.” He goes down on one knee on the bed, straddling Steve’s thigh as his other foot stays on the floor for balance. “I want that, you know.”

Steve just looks at him, tilting his head slightly and lifting his fingers up to stroke Bucky's biceps. 

“All those things. To touch and taste every inch of you. Spent so many nights thinking about it. You. Us. Thinking about how you’d feel under me, on me, around me. Think about fucking you. Fingering you. Sucking you. Leaving marks on your skin, bruises and bitemarks. Cleaning you up and licking you out. Tugging your balls and swallowing you down.” His voice is lower now, husky and deep. “Your mouth around my cock was better than any of the things I’d imagined, and I’ve imagined everything.” He leans in, lowering himself on his elbow so he can whisper in Steve’s ear. “Everything. Anything you can dream, Steve? I’ve imagined us doing it a thousand times, but it won’t be anything compared to this.”

He wraps his hand around Steve’s dick. Steve’s body arches off the bed making him thrust into Bucky’s grip. His cock is hard and thick, long and hot. The tip is leaking copiously, and Bucky lets it smear across his palm, rubbing his hand over the head at the apex of every stroke. Steve is panting soundlessly, his mouth open, tongue in constant motion to wet his lips. His eyes are closed and his neck arched, his throat exposed. Bucky leans in and presses his lips to the hollow of Steve’s throat where the collar rests.

Steve’s body hitches and Bucky squeezes at the base of his cock before scraping his teeth over the spot on Steve’s throat and licking the sensitive skin. “Should I mark you here, Steve? Leave a hot bruise for your collar to press on?”

Steve makes a sound that seems like it’s punched out of him and comes all over Bucky’s hand, dripping onto his stomach along with the rest of his orgasm that Bucky milks from his cock. 

Steve is shaking in the aftermath, and Bucky lowers himself on top of him, weight and warmth all at once. It doesn’t stop his shivering, but Bucky can feel Steve’s breathing slow eventually underneath him. He can feel the stickiness of Steve’s orgasm cooling on his hands and against his stomach, but he doesn’t move away from him, instead pressing his head beneath Steve’s chin, licking and sucking lightly at his throat, too lightly to make a mark.

It happens so slowly he doesn’t realize it until it’s started, his body rocking down into Steve’s, Steve’s pressing up into his. Bucky’s painfully hard, though his erection had ebbed in the midst of Steve’s release, as if it was orgasm enough for the both of them. But now, pressed between them, he’s hardened again against the bulk and heat of Steve’s body.

He reaches down and undoes his jeans, shoving them down quickly so he can settle back on Steve, so his cock can slide against his sweat-damp body. Steve’s thrust are almost as desperate as they’d been when Bucky was jerking him off and he wraps a leg around the back of Bucky’s thighs so the movement is restricted, so they’re barely able to move apart, so it’s all friction.

Bucky’s muscles go taut and he moans against Steve’s throat, body jerking as he comes. It’s wet and messy, slick and uncomfortable, but when he pulls back and looks down, Steve’s body is a rorschach test, a Pollock painting. He raises his gaze from Steve’s abdomen to his eyes. 

“Okay?”

He nods and laughs softly. “You ever had someone tell you that was worth a five-year wait?”

“Why? You gonna tell me that now?”

Smirking, Steve shakes his head. “Um. No.”

Bucky leans in, hoving just over him. “Asshole.”

Steve lifts his head slightly and kisses Bucky, a bare brush of lips. “Stay?”

“You sure?”

“I don’t think I’ll be okay if you go.”

Bucky closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Steve’s. “You are absolutely filthy, Rogers. Take a shower. I’m not going anywhere.”

**

“You know this is problematic, right?”

Bucky sighs. “Yes, Natasha. I’m aware that having a relationship with a priest is not generally a thing people do.”

“You’re not having a relationship with him. You had a blowjob and a mutual jerk-off session.”

“Why do I tell you things?”

“Honestly?” Her voice is dry as dust. “Because you need someone to tell you what a colossal fuckup you’re being. I had really hoped this guy could hang on and actually keep you from getting this far.”

“Hang on?”

“But that didn’t happen, so I’m going to lay this out in very small words for you.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Where do you see this going?”

“What do you mean, ‘hang on’?”

“He’s a priest, James. What do you think I mean?” She pauses like she’s waiting for an answer, but he doesn’t say anything. After a moment, she continues. “Where do you think this is going?”

“You told me to come out here. You told me I needed to tell him how I felt.”

“You told me that you needed to tell him how you felt. You told me you didn’t want to be sure you were dying and know that you never told him how you felt. At the time, I was thinking it couldn’t hurt because you’d feel better, and the guy was a _priest_ and _straight_. I didn’t know he was going to throw off his little cowl and vows just because you offered him a little dick.”

Bucky doesn’t think he breathes, but there’s something loud in the silence, so he must. Because Natasha’s not saying a thing, like maybe she realizes just how far past the line she just went. “I’ll take your input under advisement.”

“James.” Her voice stops him just before he’s about to end the call. “Is he going to leave the church? Is he going to give up his position and his congregation? Is he going to be excommunicated because he loves you? Or is this going to be fun while it lasts, fun until his fear and paranoia get the better of him? Or until he confesses to this more than once, and the priest he confesses to realizes he’s not repenting the sin, he’s repeating it, and goes to his Bishop or the Pope or whatever? Where does any of that leave you?”

He hangs up, which he knows will piss her off, but he’s not sure he can speak at all, much less to her, at this point. He looks up as Steve comes out of the bathroom, dressed in slacks and another dress shirt, collar affixed. 

“How do I look?”

“Not at all like you were defiled last night.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You gonna stick around here? It’s Sunday. Long day.” He glances at his watch. “Speaking of, I’ve got to open everything up for seven a.m. mass.” He comes over to the bed and sits on the edge of it. He reaches out and traces the ball chain of Bucky’s dog tags. “Hi.”

“You have to go to work.”

“I know.” He leans in and brushes a kiss across Bucky’s lips. “I’ll see you later?” Bucky stares down at his hands and doesn’t answer right away, his conversation with Natasha too close to the surface. He sees goosebumps rise on Steve’s forearms as he pulls back, straightening up. “Oh.”

He looks up. “Oh, what?”

“You have a plane to catch. Isn’t that what you said?” He nods and stands up. “I have to go. I guess… I have to go.” 

He grabs his cassock and vestment and shoves his feet into his dress shoes, heading out the door and letting it slam shut behind him. Bucky groans and collapses back onto the bed. “Fuck. _Fuck_.”

He’s not sure how long he lies there in bed. Bells ring several times, and he can hear people milling around and calling out greetings. At one point, he can hear the congregation responding to Steve with amens and callback responses.

He gets up for food and water and to use the bathroom, but otherwise he spends the day under the covers of Steve’s bed, vacillating between not thinking and thinking too hard. He’s trying to find an answer to Natasha’s question, trying to figure out what he wants. 

He doesn’t realize how late it’s gotten until Steve comes in, and Bucky realizes it’s dark. He glances at the clock and his eyebrows lift. It’s after eleven at night. Steve moves slowly, hanging up his cassock and vestments, untying and taking off his shoes. Bucky sees him walk over to the coffee table and stare at the vodka before sealing it up and carrying it into the kitchen.

Bucky gets out of the bed and tugs his boxer briefs on. He’s not sure how to say anything without scaring Steve, but not saying anything would be just as bad. “Steve?”

Steve whips around, hands balled into fists, ready to fight. The minute he realizes it’s Bucky, he relaxes, but then some tension builds back up again. “Hey. I’m just going to get something to eat.”

“Okay.” Bucky picks up his T-shirt from where he’d taken it off the night before and comes over to sit at the table. He watches Steve dig around in the fridge for a while before giving up, grabbing two beers, and coming over to sit across from Bucky. 

Steve twists the cap off of his and takes several long swallows, finishing half of it before Bucky even gets his open. He clears his throat and then stares at the neck of his bottle for a moment before draining the rest. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“I thought we should probably talk.”

“Sure. Yeah.” He starts scratching at the label on the bottle, refusing to look at Bucky. “Can I just… Before you start?”

Bucky wants to reach out and touch him, gives into the impulse, resting his fingers on Steve’s wrist. “Of course.”

Steve’s eyes go to Bucky’s fingers and then back to the bottle. “You’re my best friend. Always have been. Always will be. Maybe we’ll get lost sometimes along the way, but you are. And no matter what...Whatever this is… Was. Whatever it means, that’s never going to change.” He looks up and meets Bucky’s gaze. “Nothing changes it.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth curls up into a smile. “Natasha asked me what I thought was going to happen. What this meant. The two of us. What happened.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“I didn’t really say anything. I think I might have called her names, and I know I hung up on her, so I imagine I’ll be finding a horse’s head in my bed at some point in the near future.” He chuckles softly, but the air feels too heavy for humor. “But I realized that it’s more than what I expect. Because you...If I stay with this, with you, it doesn’t cost me anything. If I don’t, it’ll be hard, because I do love you and I’m always going to. But my heart’s all I’ve got on the line.”

“It’s kind of a significant thing.”

Bucky moves his hand from Steve’s wrist, folding his fingers into Steve’s palm. “You have your job. Your livelihood. Your church. Your congregation. Your life.”

“I can have both.”

“For how long?”

“How long do you want me?”

“That’s not the question, Steve.” He lifts their hands and kisses Steve’s knuckles. “How long before someone questions me living here? Or you disappearing at night? How long until someone wonders why you spend so much time with me? How long before your confession…”

“I don’t have to confess this.”

Bucky looks at him until he sees Steve shift in his chair. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Confession is sacred. It doesn’t leave the booth.”

“Does it count as confession if, even if you do the penance, you commit the sin again?” Bucky keeps his voice soft, because he can see the cracks in Steve’s surface, and a glancing blow will hurt just as much as a knockout. “Go forth and sin no more, isn’t that what you say before they leave? Can you tell someone that in good conscience when you can’t do it yourself?”

“Is this…” Steve sniffs and frees his hand from Bucky’s and lets it rest on the table in front of him. He looks down at his hand, at the table, at nothing, and his brow furrows deeply. “I don’t know what you want.”

“What does this have to do with what I want?”

“Is this punishment? For me choosing this life?” Steve’s jaw twitches, the nerve jumping. “Was it a test? A challenge?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Leaving would have been kinder. But maybe kindness isn’t the point.” Steve brings both hands up to his face and breathes into them. His hair, so perfectly styled that morning is falling, bangs like a blond curtain over his fingers. It takes Bucky a moment to decipher Steve’s ragged breathing, to realize he’s struggling not to cry. 

“Steve? Hey, Steve. What’s wrong?” He reaches out to touch him, but stops before he can, somehow certain that it wouldn’t be welcome. “Steve?”

“You should go. For real this time. For good.” He pulls his hands away from his face, and whatever mask he’s trying to wear is failing, cracked and splintered, and Bucky still has no idea what’s going on. “I’m g-go… I’m going to sleep in my office. You can… Just lock up when you leave.” 

He gets to his feet and is out the door before Bucky can even react. He has to tug on jeans and his tennis shoes before he can follow Steve to the church, and by then the door is locked. He goes back to Steve’s quarters and goes back to the bed wondering when, where, and how things went so horribly, suddenly, inexplicably wrong.

**

New York is full of well-meaning people who continue to say exactly the wrong thing to Bucky on a seemingly continuous basis. His parents and Becca say they’re glad he’s home, but sometimes it sounds like they’re just glad he’s away from Steve. That may not be what they mean, but that’s what he hears.

Natasha’s cool to him for nearly a month before she tells him to buy her a drink. Even then, the discussion about Steve seems to hang over them like Damocles’s sword. She doesn’t mention Steve and neither does he, but Bucky feels like he can see him in the corners, just out of sight.

Tony is the least tactful person, asking how the Father is and, if Bucky’s got a thing for him, does that constitute a daddy kink. Bucky punches him, but he’s nice enough to do it with his right hand, so he doesn’t actually break Tony’s jaw. 

He gets a job working for a mechanic at a shop owned by a friend of a friend of his dad’s. It’s a medium-sized operation, doing well since Bucky’s dad’s friend happens to drive a cab, and so the cabs and private cars of their drivers end up on the hydraulic lifts. 

He’s got his own shithole of a place, and he’s trying to figure out if he wants to use his GI Bill before the government finds a way to do away with it completely. He absolutely refuses any dates with friends or daughters of friends that Rebecca and his mother suggest, and the two times he’s gone to a bar, he’s only left with a sick feeling in his stomach.

But it’s Friday night, and his coworkers are dragging him out for a bachelor party, and according to the groom, everyone’s going home with someone or he’s calling off the wedding. Bucky told him he’s going to have a lot of disappointed guests and a crapload of gifts to return, but he’d just gotten his hair ruffled and a pat on the back.

He’s about to text Natasha to come and pretend to be the person he’s going home with when he realizes he has an unread message from an unknown number. He opens it and there’s an image of a brand-new white van. He’s confused as hell until he reads the accompanying text.

_Tell Tony the church appreciates his donation. His one time donation. Please make that clear._

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky drops his head on the table, then picks it up immediately to get away from the sticky, wet surface. 

“What’s up?” Bucky turns to see Jim Morita, the master of the oil change as he likes to call himself, looking at him. “Bad news?”

“No. Just… One of my friends is being annoying toward someone I had a falling out with. In the most passive aggressive yet helpful way possible.”

“Uh...huh.”

Bucky shrugs. “It’s complicated.”

“Seems like. You want another drink?”

Bucky looks down at the picture of the van. “Yeah. Make it a double.”

**

He wakes up, rolls over, leans over the side of the bed and throws up on the floor or whatever might have the disadvantage of being in range. It’s hard to tell when he absolutely refuses to open his eyes. He rolls back onto the bed, eyes pointed up at the ceiling even though he still refuses to open them. That all changes when an arm settles across his waist. He sits up and looks around wildly. 

There’s a guy in his bed. A naked guy. A naked guy who’s lying on his stomach, giving Bucky a clear view of his parted legs and the glisten of lube on his ass. Bucky closes his eyes tightly and opens them again, hoping maybe he’s hallucinating because they ended the night with a rotgut tequila drinking challenge, and if anything is going to produce hallucinations, it would be that.

There’s still a naked guy with a lubed-up ass and spread legs lying next to him. A well-built, blond naked guy. Hoping again that it’s a hallucination, Bucky pokes him softly on the shoulder. “Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Steve?” His heart’s suddenly racing. Maybe he is hallucinating or dreaming or…

The guy looks up and he’s _definitely_ not Steve. Except apparently he is. “Hey.” He grins and he’s cute enough and Bucky was obviously drunk enough. “Surprised you remember my name, to be honest. You were getting pretty wasted by the end there.”

He was obviously _visibly_ wasted by the end, but clearly if he’d gotten to the point before then that he was going home with his guy, he’d been wasted long before they got to the tequila portion of the evening. “Yeah. Um.”

The guy turns his head and mouths at Bucky’s hip. “Taste good. You know, you promised you’d let me taste you this morning. Said last night you needed to fuck me too much to let me get my mouth on you.”

“Yeah. I.” Bucky moves Steve’s arm off of him. “I… This… I have a boyfriend. We’re…. Fighting right now, and I’m so sorry that I dragged you into this and you’re… I had a great time, but I…”

“Hey, no. It’s cool. I get it. Revenge fuck. Totally cool.” He gets up and stretches and all Bucky can see is Steve’s body spread out below him. Fuck. 

“Yeah. Revenge. Thanks. For being so cool about it.” 

“Trust me, when my girlfriend finds out I got fucked by a guy?”

“Oh. You’re um…”

“No, dude. I’m totally into it. And she gets off on it. Likes hearing about me getting my ass pounded. So, you know, thanks.” He leans in and kisses Bucky hard. Bucky tries to keep his mouth shut because he knows he tastes like vomit and because he’s not sure he’d be able to keep down the bile that’s churning in his throat. 

He sits there as Steve-but-not-_Steve_ finishes getting dressed and heads out, and then for a few minutes longer, until his footsteps have faded from the hall; then he bolts to the bathroom, losing whatever might be left in his stomach. When he’s done, he makes himself clean up the floor before he flops back into bed, stewing in the smell of sex, his own sweat, and cheap tequila.

He leans over the side of the bed for his jeans, digging his phone out of the pocket and rolling back onto the mattress. He opens Steve’s text and stares at it. He stares for a long time before he finally types out a response. 

_Sounds like Tony. Did it come with a big red bow on it?_

He waits for a response long enough for him to start dozing before he gets a reply.

_How do you think I knew it was from him?_

_Could have been worse?_

_Don’t say stuff like that. Don’t tempt fate._

Bucky smiles and brushes his finger over the message, closing his eyes and imagining it in Steve’s voice. _How’s the pope?_

_Busy guy. He doesn’t write. Doesn’t call. I mean you let the guy be the representation of God on earth and suddenly he’s too busy for the common people._

_Tell him Jesus was a big fan of the common people. Lepers. Whores. Shepards. Carpenters. All the party people._

_A guy who knew how to throw a rager. Wine. Fish. Maybe some bread._

_Party animal._

Steve doesn’t respond, and Bucky feels like he’s learning how to breathe again because they just had a conversation. A bullshit conversation, but conversation nonetheless. Which, honestly, Bucky didn’t think they’d ever have again.

He sets the phone down carefully and gets out of bed, tugging the sheets off and leaving them on the floor. He showers thoroughly, washing away the previous night like sloughing off dead skin. He knows there’s nothing wrong with what he did. He doesn’t owe Steve anything, certainly not the rest of his life spent in celibacy. 

But when he’s finished scrubbing, skin pink from the rough washcloth and the hot water, when he reaches down to squeeze his balls, when he wraps his hand around his cock, all he can see is Steve -- his Steve -- naked beneath him, lost in an orgasm he’d denied himself for years, giving himself over to Bucky. 

Bucky presses his fist to the tile wall and squeezes his eyes closed, trying to see something else. Needing to see someone else. But it’s Steve’s head tilted back, his mouth open in pleasure, his breath ragged and desperate. It’s Steve’s mouth around his cock, sucking until Bucky can’t feel anything but the slick, wet heat. His come in Steve’s mouth, smeared across his lips, painting Steve’s abdomen.

Bucky comes hard, sinking to his knees because his legs don’t want to support him. 

He stays like that until his legs go numb and the water starts to cool, then he shuts off the spray and sits on the floor of the shower until the pins and needles disappear. Then he gets up, dries off, gets dressed, and goes to start the laundry.

Because Steve’s just a fantasy again. And life goes on.

**

Bucky texts him two days later, unable to help himself now that there’s a line of communication open. He tells him about the vintage car he worked on and that the owner, ninety if he was a day, told Bucky all about the fact he’d lost his virginity in the back seat when it was his dad’s car, that he’d asked his first wife to marry him while she was sitting up on top of the back seat when the top was down.

Steve had texted back, teasing Bucky about everyone telling him their sordid stories. Bucky had shot back, asking Steve if it was the sex or the proposal that was sordid. He got a dirty joke about a priest giving a couple marriage counseling. 

Steve texted him a picture of his bike, a picture of the lake, a picture of colored leaves falling on the surface. Bucky teased him about taking God on a romantic picnic. Steve reminded him it was difficult to have anything romantic with the guy’s kid and holy spirit hanging around. Bucky had suggested polyamory and Steve’s reply that said he’d just spat out his breakfast cereal had Bucky smiling the rest of the day. 

Bucky texted him a picture of Tony working on his arm. Told him all the things Tony had suggested as upgrades including a rocket launcher, a Swiffer handle, and a vibrator. Steve told Bucky if he was a bottom, he’d have to go with the vibrator. It had taken him hours to get up the guts, but Bucky finally replied that he could just as easily use it as a top _on_ a bottom. 

Steve had texted him that night, far too late for either of them to be awake.

_I’m a bottom._

Bucky had rolled over onto his stomach, buried his face in his pillow, pulled his knees up and jerked off hard and fast and tight until he came hard enough that he saw stars behind his eyelids. 

Neither of them text for a week after that. He can’t find anything to say that doesn’t sound strained or fake, and he knows Steve isn’t going to say anything. 

Until he does.

_Do you jerk off with the metal hand?_

Bucky stares at the text and tells Jim he’s taking a break. He goes out behind the garage and leans on the wall. His hand shakes while he types his reply. _Not sure how to answer that._

_With a yes or a no._

_Why do you want to know?_ He doesn’t get a reply, so finally he texts again, _Gotta get back to work_.

When he gets home, he strips down and stretches out on his bed. He’s half-hard with anticipation and he wraps his metal hand around his cock and starts stroking slowly. He waits, letting it all build up slowly. And then, as soon as he knows Steve will be saying mass, he calls to leave a message. 

“Yes. Do-doing it right now.” He’s breathing heavily, knowing Steve’s going to listen to this -- listen to _him_ \-- heightening the sensations ricocheting through his body. “Thinking about what it would be like to see it wrapped around you. All that silver against your pale skin. Or maybe you want my fingers inside you? Would you sit up and watch me finger you? Or do you want me to open you up and bury myself inside you to the wrist? You want to be all lubed up so my fist can slide inside you? T-that what you…” He has to stop, everything building to a crescendo inside him. He’s so close, so close to losing control, his eyes closed as he imagines every word. “That what you w-want, Steve?”

He breaks off again as he comes, knowing Steve will hear every gasped breath, every moan as he strokes himself through his orgasm. When he’s done, he’s breathless, but he still manages to whisper. 

“So, to answer your question. Yes.”

**

He gets a call two days later just after lunch. It’s Steve’s number, so Bucky doesn’t touch it until he’s home from work. He makes himself wait. Makes himself shower away his day in the garage, eat dinner, read and answer his emails. He crawls into bed with his phone, not sure what Steve’s message will be. Not sure what he wants it to be.

Steve’s voice is hushed, soft and private, rough and gritty. “You want me on my back or do you want me on my hands and knees? My cock hanging down hot and heavy and hard between my legs as you open me up. Finger after finger after finger until I’m begging for it, for you. Desperate.” Bucky can hear the soft sound of flesh on flesh in the background, and without thinking he’s started to stroke himself in the same rhythm. “Never been spread open like that, Buck. Never had someone that deep. Your fingers touching so deep inside me. Oh.” A rough whimpered breath, and Bucky has to squeeze himself to keep from losing it right there.

“Would you go slow? Maybe start slow at first and then thrust it in me, punch it in me fast and hard and deep and o-oh.” 

He can hear Steve’s breath shudder, and Bucky’s hand strokes faster and tighter until he arches forward and then falls back, slamming his head against the pillow. He lies there, breathing heavily, listening to Steve do the same, before the line clicks and the call disconnects.

Bucky drops the phone and lies there on the bed, boneless, exhausted and covered in come. He doesn’t bother getting up. Doesn’t want to feel anything but this, even though he knows he’ll wake up cold and itchy, tight skin and flaking flecks of come. 

**

He waits a week before he calls back, because every time he thinks about what he might say, he ends up having to jerk off before he can even complete the thought. Finally he gives in and brings himself off in the shower before he settles down on the bed to call.

It rings and rings and, for a second, Bucky thinks Steve might actually pick up, but then it rolls to voicemail. 

“I want you on the bed, two pillows under the small of your back to lift you up. I want your knees over my shoulders. I want to suck on your balls and then lick my way down. Lick your hole until it’s fluttering like a rabbit’s heart beat under my tongue, clenching and constricting as my tongue presses harder and harder on it. I want to close my mouth over you and suck and lick my way inside your ass.”

He breathes roughly, even though he’s not hard. He _wants_ so goddamn much.

“Push your legs up higher, open you up to me. You ever had a tongue fuck your ass, Steve? Ever had one slide wet against your hole before it pushed in, firm yet not. A whole new sensation in your ass, nothing like a cock, but so good. Eat you out for hours until my jaw aches with it, until spit slides down your crack and your cock is leaking into my sweaty hair. Have you so wet from my tongue my cock would slide in without any lube. Can you take it for hours, Steve? Or are you going to come all over yourself? You gonna come from my tongue fucking you, my hands holding your ass? Fuck, Steve. Are you gonna beg?”

He’s hard again and he has to grab himself, start stroking. He can see Steve in his mind’s eye. See his knees against his shoulders, practically imagine the soft, wet rose red of his hole, the flutter of the muscle. 

“Need you to grab your ass for me, Stevie. Need you to hold yourself open so I can fuck so deep. Want to feel your body tighten around my tongue as you come, want to hear you gasp and groan and beg, want your body shaking above me.”

He concentrates on the head of his cock, palm slick with precome, jerking hard and fast, not speaking, just breathing until he comes, gasping loud into the phone. He hangs up before he can say anything stupid, and falls asleep wondering, again, what the fuck he’s doing.

**

Natasha is holding Bucky’s phone over the table with two fingers. Bucky looks at it, then at her. “Hi? How’d you get in?” He shakes his head. “Never mind. You want a beer or anything?”

“The wine I brought.” She changes her hold on his phone so she’s staring at the screen. “Why was Steve calling you?”

Bucky nearly drops a wine glass and curses as it tips and some of the wine spills out. “Why are you looking at my phone?”

“It rang while you were in the shower. I answered.”

“And why did you do that?” He’s glad he’s got the glass in his metal hand when he realizes he’s making a fist, the glass grinding down to dust. 

“I thought you two weren’t talking. I didn’t want him to upset you, so I asked why he was calling. He stammered a little bit, and I told him not to call again.”

His hand tightens further and he lets out a long, slow breath to keep from losing control. “You had no right to do that. We’re still friends. We talk sometimes.”

“Do you.”

“Natasha, you’re my friend. More than that. We’ve worked together, survived together. But that doesn’t give you the right to make decisions for me about my own damn life.” He stands up and dumps the glass remaining in his hand into the trash, then takes a scrub brush from by the sink and starts scrubbing it from between the metal plates. 

“You’re right. I’m all those things. Which is why I know you have no self-preservation instinct when it comes to Rogers.”

“Which still doesn’t make it any of your business.”

“He is a priest, James.” She raises her voice just slightly, which Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever heard her do save in a combat situation. 

“I’m well aware of that!”

“So you’ve decided not to have a life? Not try to move on and actually live? Find someone who can love you and be with you unconditionally? Someone who isn’t keeping you like some kind of secret -- some kind of _sin_ \-- on the side? Someone who is never going to be with you?”

“Did you come here for a reason, Natasha?”

“Yes, because I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t need to worry.” 

She holds up his phone. “I think I need to worry more than ever.” She tosses it on the table, and then gets up, walking toward the door. “You say you’re just friends. Prove it.”

“How?”

“Start living your life here. Go out with friends. See your family. Start dating.”

“Dating someone else means Steve and I are friends?”

“Dating someone else means you’re trying. Which I don’t think you’re doing at all. And I think he’s an asshole for leading you on. He’s not leaving the church for you, Bucky. I don’t care how much you want to fuck each other.”

He just stops himself from throwing the phone at the door behind her. He shakes as he exhales, trying to release his anger. At her. At himself. Because he knows she’s right. He rubs his thumb over the phone screen and then opens it, opens up the text thread with Steve that’s full of innocuous things that belie the increasingly graphic, sexual, desperate messages they’ve been leaving each other. The ones Bucky listens to over and over between calls, the ones he falls asleep to, his cock in his hand and come on his stomach most of the time. 

_Sorry about Natasha._

_She’s just looking out for you. And she’s right. You’re not getting a chance at life, at moving forward if I’m holding you in place._

_She doesn’t get the right to make my decisions for me._

_I love you. I just need to love you enough to let you go._

_Is that what you were going to say when you called? Is that what you were going to tell me?_

Steve doesn’t respond, and after ten minutes, Bucky dials Steve’s number. It rings and goes to voicemail, so Bucky hangs up and dials again. And again. And again until Steve finally answers. “Bucky.”

“Shut up. I love you. Why would I want to move on and be with someone else when I love you? So what if all we have are phone calls and texts? What if that’s enough?”

Steve’s quiet for a long time, the only sound his breathing. Bucky wonders if he’s thinking or praying. He wonders briefly if Steve prays for his feelings to stop, Bucky’s feelings to stop. “Is it, though?”

“That’s not fair. Not when it’s all I can have.”

“You can have more,” Steve reminds him. “Just not with me. Natasha’s right. You have a life to live, and if I love you, I should let you do it.” There’s a hitch in Steve’s voice that breaks something in Bucky. “And I do love you. So, please, live your life. Try to be happy. Please.”

“What if I can’t be happy without you? How am I supposed to walk away knowing we love each other?”

Steve sighs shakily. “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out.”

**

He stops checking his phone every five minutes after three weeks. Two weeks after that, he’s only looking every hour. It’s another month before he lets one of his co-workers set him up on a date. Natasha shows up as if she knows to help him get ready.

The girl is nice. They go out three times. Bucky kisses her goodnight after the second date, lets her invite him in after the third. They touch and kiss and Bucky gets her off, leaves her sated after three orgasms and a kiss goodbye.

He takes the subway home, realizing he hadn’t been hard the entire time he’d been with her. He’s hard now though, as he thinks about listening to one of Steve’s calls, listening to his voice talk Bucky into an orgasm of his own.

The messages are gone.

He doesn’t know how long he stares at his phone, but it’s early morning when he calls Natasha. She answers sleepily and asks him how his date went. He tells her to stay out of his life, ends the call, and crushes the phone in his metal fist.

As soon as he lets the pieces fall from his fist, he realizes he’s just lost Steve’s phone number as well.

Maybe it’s a sign.

Maybe he needs a drink.

**

He’s not sure how he manages to survive the next year, but he does and it passes. It’s Thanksgiving and he’s half asleep on the couch next to his dad, football on the TV. Becca’s sitting in the chair, yelling at whatever college team she’s rooting for or against. Bucky’s not sure. She might be against them both. Her relationship with football is complicated.

The doorbell rings and Bucky groans when his dad elbows him in the ribs. “Go get the door.”

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.”

“You are young and in my house.”

“I’m also digesting a whole turkey.”

“Your mother is napping, your sister is yelling, and I’m the adult here. Get the door.”

Bucky groans, but gets up, flipping on the porch light when he gets to the door and staring out the peephole. His heart stops somewhere in his chest, and he opens the door, slipping out onto the porch. 

Steve’s standing there with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, his shoulders hunched, and -- _Jesus Christ_ \-- with a full beard.

“Uh.”

“Sorry to bother you. I haven’t been able to get hold of you, and that’s probably a good thing, given...everything, but I was in town, and I --” His words are cut off as Bucky pins him to the wall and kisses him, hungry and desperate, his hands framing Steve’s face. Steve moans softly and melts, getting closer to Bucky.

“What the fuck, quit ringing the doorbell.” 

Becca slams open the front door and Bucky whines, dropping his head to Steve’s shoulder. “Go away, Becca.”

She stares at Steve and Bucky can practically feel the animosity radiating off of her. “How dare you come here. And you.” She jabs Bucky hard in the side. “You’re supposed to be _smart_, Bucky. And what’s Amber going to say?”

Steve swallows, loud enough to hear. “Amber.”

“Yeah.” Becca’s voice is hard and cold. “Bucky’s girlfriend. Fiancee in about a month, right, Bucks? I assume you’re putting the ring you bought under her tree.” Her gaze settles on Steve and her eyes are like ice, something colder. “It’s been over a year. I thought you’d actually gotten the hint.”

“I was in town and I...” Steve swallows again, and Bucky can’t look up, can’t look him in the eye. He focuses on Steve’s Adam’s apple. “I thought I’d stop by. Wish the family a Happy Thanksgiving. Apologize. Again.”

“We don’t want or need your apologies.” Rebecca crosses her arms over her chest and is very clearly not moving.

“I didn’t know how to get in touch with you other than this.” Steve looks down at Bucky. He can feel his eyes on him, but there’s no way he can meet them. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m… I re-enlisted. I’m going over to Iraq. Chaplain Steve Rogers.” 

“You’re what?” Bucky takes a step back and manages to look at Steve. Glare at him. “You’re _what_?”

“I leave day after tomorrow from Jersey.” He turns his gaze to Becca who hasn’t stopped looking at Steve like she’d like to strangle him. “I just… I didn’t think you’d wonder, but… Not that I figured you would. I just… I guess I thought I owed you that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrupt your holiday.”

He starts down the stairs and Bucky grabs his arm. “Wait.”

“Let him go, Bucky.”

“Fuck off, Rebecca.” Bucky jerks Steve’s arm until he’s forced to turn back to face him. “Where are you staying?”

“Just outside of McGuire Air Force Base. I can’t stay. And I’m not wanted. I’m sorry. Again.” He shakes off Bucky’s grip and heads out to the street, to his bike. He looks back at Bucky, his face shaded by his helmet so Bucky can’t see his expression in the streetlight. “Congratulations. On your marriage. I wish you every blessing.”

He starts the bike and takes off before Bucky can say anything. Bucky shoves past Becca, grabs the keys to his dad’s car and hurries to get it started, pulling into the street and taking off after Steve. He catches up to him on the freeway and follows him. He knows Steve knows he’s there. He wants him to know.

Steve pulls into a hotel parking lot and Bucky manages a spot right next to him. Steve dismounts and stands there, helmet in his hands. 

“You should go home, Buck.”

“Fuck you. Which room’s yours?”

“You’re engaged. You need to go home. Back to your family. Back to Amber.” Bucky moves over to Steve, too close, close enough to see Steve’s breath hitch in his chest. “Please.”

“I haven’t seen Amber in six months, Rebecca is a fucking liar. Take me to your room, Steve.” 

Steve whimpers softly and steps back,not protesting as he heads into the hotel. Bucky doesn’t look around them, doesn’t look at anything other than Steve’s back until they’re in the elevator. They go up to the tenth floor without speaking, and Bucky follows Steve down the hall, still without a word.

The lock beeps and Bucky practically shoves Steve inside the room. He goes in and shuts the door, turning the deadbolt, flipping the door guard. Now that they’re alone, Bucky isn’t sure where to start, and Steve doesn’t look like he knows either. Bucky just stares, can’t stop staring. Finally he manages to speak.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” He steps closer, relieved when Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch away, and Bucky presses his hand lightly against the side of his face. He breathes Steve’s name and then they’re kissing. Soft. Tentative. Nervous.

Steve’s breath shudders against Bucky’s lips between kisses “Oh god. Oh god, Buck.” He wraps his hand around the nape of Bucky’s neck and holds him still, taking his mouth in a kiss. It’s hard and deep and Bucky’s shaking when it ends. 

He and Steve are both breathing heavily, panting into one another’s mouths. Bucky looks at Steve for a moment, and then he can’t stop. He shoves at Steve's jacket, grabs his T-shirt and pulls it free of his jeans. Steve shrugs off the leather jacket and lets it fall to the floor just in time for Bucky to pull his shirt up and off. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Bucky’s mouth finds skin -- Steve’s neck, collarbone, pecs. He bites and sucks at one nipple and then the other, cursing against Steve’s skin until he’s able to get the fly of his jeans undone. Both of his hands move from Steve’s hips to his jeans, shoving them down. 

Steve moans as the fabric tugs at his cock and his hands reach for Bucky, settling in his hair as Bucky sinks down and swallows Steve’s cock into his mouth without preamble. Steve gasps and moans and shakes above him as Bucky uses every trick he’s ever learned on Steve. His tongue and the roof of his mouth, his teeth, suction, sloppy wet, tonguing his slit. 

He glances up through his eyelashes and Steve’s body is entirely rigid, his head thrown back, and Bucky’s wondering if he’s breathing when Steve comes, flooding Bucky’s mouth and throat. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s thighs as he sways, not letting him fall while he continues to work him over, suck him until Steve’s babbling nonsense and his knees actually give out.

Bucky guides Steve onto his back and moves over him, kissing his way up his body. He stalls at the trail of hair that leads down from Steve’s navel, catching the hair in his teeth and tugging lightly. Steve moans and Bucky keeps doing it from the base of Steve’s cock up to his navel where he traces the circle, dips his tongue in.

By the time Bucky’s braced over Steve, looking at him head-on, Steve is glassy-eyed, open-mouthed, and covered in goosebumps. Bucky stares down at him and then ducks his head, brushing their lips together. Steve’s reaction is delayed, pursing his lips for Bucky’s kiss as it ends. Shifting his weight onto his metal arm, Bucky strokes his fingers over Steve’s cheekbones, down to his jaw. 

“I love you.” He says it reverently, his own version of a prayer. “So much. Never stopped.”

Steve manages to lean in and kiss Bucky breathless when he slumps back to the floor. “You. I love you.” He pulls Bucky down with trembling hands, wrapping his arms around him once he’s settled. He presses his mouth to Bucky’s ear, whispers it again and again. “I love you. I love you.”

Bucky groans and forces himself to pull away. Steve whines, but Bucky makes himself ignore it so he can pull his dress shirt off, not caring that he pops the top button. He bends down to kiss Steve again, using his flesh hand to undo his jeans. He doesn't manage to get them off before Steve’s mouth is on his neck, biting and sucking Bucky’s throat.

Moaning, Bucky has to physically push Steve back so he can get his pants off, kicking them off with his shoes, pressing himself back to Steve. He revels in the feel of skin against skin, nipping at Steve’s throat as he lies there with his head tilted back, offering himself as a sacrifice. 

“Need to be inside you. Want to. Please.”

“I don’t… I don’t have…”

Bucky growls, then moves down, pushing Steve’s legs up onto his shoulders. Steve cries out even before Bucky’s tongue touches him, and he doesn’t stop. Bucky doesn’t know how long he’s down there, how long he’s tasted and fucked Steve with his tongue and fingers, but when he pulls back, Steve’s voice is hoarse and barely above a whisper.

Licking his wet lips, Bucky lines himself up, the head of his cock leaking against Steve’s skin as Bucky guides it, circling Steve’s hole. “Say yes.”

“Y--” Steve nods, licks his lips with a dry tongue and tries again. “Yes.”

He’s tight. So tight. Too tight. Bucky knows the last push hurts him, even though Bucky is thrusting shallowly, incrementally. But then he’s inside Steve. Filling him. Surrounded by him. Steve makes a choked noise and Bucky starts moving. He goes slow, torturously slow until he can’t anymore, until he digs his fingers into the hotel carpet and brings his knees closer to Steve’s ass. Until Steve’s thighs are draped across his own.

He wants it to be gradual, but as soon as he starts thrusting in earnest he can’t stop. He’s fucking into Steve hard and fast and it’s everything. It’s _everything_. He and Steve are both gasping, every thrust forcing a low sound out of them. 

Finally Bucky can’t take anymore and he sits back and grabs Steve’s hips, pulling Steve deeper onto him while he fucks forward into Steve. Steve’s feet are braced on the floor and he helps, the angle catching him just right to turn every breath into a whine. His mouth moves like he wants to say something, but if he does, Bucky doesn’t hear it over the sound of his own orgasm crashing around him.

He keeps thrusting until it hurts, until it’s too much, then he slumps onto Steve, still buried inside him. They’re both shaking and there are tears rolling from the corners of Steve’s eyes. Bucky shifts just enough to kiss them away, and he can feel the coating of his come shift around him as he moves inside Steve.

Steve turns his head and kisses Bucky’s wrist. “Reporting for duty with rug burn is going to be interesting.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh. He bites Steve’s earlobe. “Next time we’ll have to do it on the bed.”

**

Bucky leaves before Steve wakes up to take his dad’s car back and then catches an Uber back out to Jersey. Steve’s awake when he gets back, but still in bed. Bucky immediately goes over and climbs up the mattress to him, kissing him softly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He kisses Bucky and wraps his arm around him, pulling him on top of him. “Where’d you go?”

“Took my dad’s car back. Stopped off at the store.” He grabs the bag he’d thrown on the bed when he’d let Steve distract him. He dumps it out so Steve can see the lube and condoms. “Not to assume, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

Steve bites Bucky’s lower lip and tugs, not letting go until it’s almost actually painful. “Bucky, I… Just because my rank is Chaplain, I’m still a Father. That hasn’t changed. I just gave up one parish for another, bigger, more diverse one.”

“Wait. You really re-enlisted? You’re going to Iraq?”

Steve frowns. “Why would I lie about that?”

“But… But you came to see me.”

Steve reaches up and swipes his thumb back and forth over Bucky’s lower lip. “A lot can happen over there. I didn’t have any way to contact you, so… And I don’t have a next of kin, so there’s no one they‘ll contact if anything happens, so. I guess I thought I owed you that.”

“But… No.”

“I have a day. Before I go. I’d like to spend it with you, but I understand if you’d rather not stay. I wasn’t trying to trick you or anything. Hurt you. I never want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t fucking go into an active war zone!” Bucky sits up, straddling him, hands clenched into fists. “What the actual _fuck_, Steve. You got out! For a reason!”

“It’s something I want to do. Need to do. I’m not asking you to understand.”

”Good, because I fucking _don’t_. You’ve _seen_ what can happen over there.” Bucky shoves his palm in front of Steve’s face. “This. Loss of limb. Loss of sight. Loss of… You could die.”

“I know that.”

“I don’t believe you. I really fucking don’t.” Bucky gets off the bed and paces the length of the room, glaring at Steve every time he turns around. “Why? Huh? Why? Did your _god_ tell you to? Huh? Did he tell you that you shouldn’t love someone, but you should be willing to go over there and kill people in a war you don’t believe in? Huh? Is that what he does, Steve? What is he, Steve? Huh? Employed by the fucking Armed Forces?”

“There’s a shortage of chaplains. I went to a talk, a lecture, with a bunch of veterans, and so many of them said how lonely and alone they felt out there. How they were in land that they’ve always heard was holy, and the whole sky is up there filled with stars, and they’ve never felt so alone.”

“And you think bringing _god_ to them in half-hearted prayers and platitudes is going to fix that? They’re in a war, Steve. The whole purpose of war is to make you feel alone so you think the only thing you belong to is the assholes that have you dug in out there, so you’ll keep laying down your life for them.” Bucky realizes he’s breathing heavily, that he’s shouting. Steve’s face is expressionless. “They were going to let me _die_ out there. They didn’t give a shit that my troop and I were captured. It was by fucking _chance_ that we were rescued. They feel alone because they _are_ alone. And no amount of your prayer is going to change that.”

Steve's sitting on the bed, the sheets pooled at his waist. His expression is serene and blank and Bucky wants to punch it off his face. “You say His name like a curse word.”

“Why am I so fucking stupid when it comes to you?” Bucky isn’t yelling, but his voice is still loud. Steve doesn’t flinch, but his eyes dart away. Bucky closes his eyes tightly, takes a deep breath, and then looks at Steve again. “Sorry.”

“No. It’s okay. It’s how you feel.” Steve brings his knees up to his chest, and Bucky hates how small he can make himself, how much he feels like he needs to do it, knows how to do it. “You were right to block my number. I shouldn’t have come. I don’t know what I thought it would accomplish. I should… I can report early.” 

“Steve…” Bucky reaches out to touch him and Steve actually does flinch away. He sits on the edge of the bed, but keeps his hand back. “I didn’t block your number.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry, okay?” He presses his face to his knees and Bucky can’t stop himself from reaching out and resting his hand on Steve’s shoulder. He feels Steve’s muscles twitch under his touch, but he doesn’t jerk away. “I just didn’t want to go without seeing you again. Just in case. I keep making things difficult for you.”

“No, Steve.”

“You have an almost-fiancee. And we…” His shoulders rise sharply, lowering when he exhales. “My Bishop didn’t argue when I said I was thinking about signing up. He told me that maybe it would help me with my problem. My confession that kept happening, that I couldn’t seem to ask forgiveness for because I didn’t feel it needed to be forgiven. That maybe I could ask for guidance when I was in the land of His birth.”

“The war is going to make you stop wanting me?”

“I think, like most of my commanding officers, he wants me to be someone else’s problem.” He laughs, completely devoid of humor. “I think that’s probably going to be my epitaph. ‘Steve Rogers. Now he’s definitely someone else’s problem.’”

Budky strokes his hand over the back of Steve’s head, his hair. “Steve…”

“Will you promise me that you’ll live your life? Marry your girl. Have a family? Be happy? Will you promise me that? It would… Knowing you’re happy would mean everything to me.”

“Steve. Hey…”

He turns his head and his blue eyes are swimming with tears that don’t fall. Bucky’s never seen Steve look so sad, so defenseless. Steve doesn’t break, and yet right now he looks like he could, like he will. He doesn’t say anything else, just waits. 

Finally Bucky nods, leans in, kisses Steve’s forehead, then stands up to walk to the door. “I promise.”

**

“You need to come to my place,” Tony says without preamble when Bucky answers the phone. “Immediately. Sooner. Teleport. Have I put that function in your arm? Press the blue button. Is there a blue button? JARVIS, is there a blue button?”

Bucky can’t hear JARVIS’s reply in the background. “Tony, what’s going on?”

“Well, you know how you sort of accidentally because I pissed you off told me that Father Prince Charming was going off to win the war?”

Bucky’s chest tightens. “Yes.”

“Well, so I’ve been keeping track of him a little. Maybe.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Bucky actually manages to flag down a cab. He gets in and tells it to take him to Tony’s monstrosity of a building. 

“Technically?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Not the point.” Tony covers the phone and says something to someone in the background. “Anyway, he’s in the Brooklyn VA Medical Center. Needs true love’s kiss or something.”

“What?” Bucky leans forward and tells the cabbie to turn around and head to the hospital, glad they weren’t out of Brooklyn. “What?”

“Well, apparently there was a boom. And the boom boomed him. He’s been in a coma for a week. Just got back to the States.”

“And you’re telling me _now_?”

“Yes. As opposed to when he was completely out of reach and vital signs were not promising, so shut up and say thank you.”

“Can’t do both.”

“Say thank you, then shut up.”

“Thanks, Tony. Gotta go.” 

He pays the cabbie, probably too much, and heads inside. He goes to the main desk and waits until the woman behind the desk looks at him. “Can I help you?”

“Sergeant James Barnes. I’m here to see Captain Steve Rogers.”

She looks at her computer and types in Steve’s name, frowning when it comes up. “Your relationship to Mr. Rogers?”

“I’m his best friend. The closest thing he has to next of kin. I know it will probably violate as lot of laws, and I don’t know if it helps, but I know Tony Stark and all his lawyers who will help with this if it came to that, but please. He’s all alone.”

She shakes her head. “I’d be violating HIPAA laws and I doubt even Tony Stark could save me from a dishonorable discharge. I’m sorry.”

“Fiance.”

“He doesn’t have anyone listed. I’m sorry.” 

Bucky looks at her, leaning in. “I haven’t seen him in three years. We argued before he left and I swear, I just need to see if he’s okay. Please.”

She looks at him for a long minute, then stands up. “Maureen? Can you watch the desk? I’m gonna take a quick break.” She gives Bucky a look as she goes by and he follows her obediently. They go up several floors, then she leads him out to a nurses station and a host of monitors. She taps one.

Bucky sinks onto one of the stools and reaches out, tracing the gray and white picture of Steve lying so still in his bed. He has to squeeze his eyes closed to keep any tears from forming. “How… Is he getting any better? Signs of improvement?”

“I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry.”

“Right. Of course. Thank you. For this.”

He stands up so she can lead him back to the main entrance, but before they get too close to the desk, she grabs him by the wrist. “Give me your phone number.”

“What?”

“Give me your phone number. I’ll give it to him so he can call you.”

“He won’t.”

“You’d be surprised what people will do when they wake up from a coma. Come on.” She leads him over to the desk and hands him a slip of paper and a pen. Bucky looks down at it and writes his name and number. The worse that can come of it is Steve doesn’t call him, and he already expects that, so he’s not losing anything except some dignity. 

“Okay. Thanks.” 

She smiles at him as he walks out and Bucky leans against the side of the building, taking a deep breath. He hates the smell of hospitals, having spent too long in them, and it’s hard to get the smell of bleach and pain out of his head. 

“Barnes!”

Bucky starts, trying to find out who said his name. There’s a car by the entrance where it explicitly says no parking. So. Tony. He goes over and climbs in when Tony opens the door. “Hey.” He closes his eyes and leans back against the seat. “I’m not sure if I’m up to saying thank you yet.”

“Did you get to see him?”

“No. There are laws.”

“Well, that’s dumb.”

“Not really.” Bucky sighs. “Tell me you have booze in this thing.”

“I’d be offended if you actually thought I didn’t.” Tony presses a button, which opens a cabinet that has what looks to be a very expensive bottle of something that Bucky very much wants to put a dent in. 

Bucky reaches for it, but Tony pulls it out of the way. “Nope. Because I need some of this too.” He pours them each a glass, much to Bucky’s annoyance. Still, he takes the glass and limits himself to a healthy drink rather than draining the whole thing. Which is probably for the best, since he still ends up coughing and spluttering.

Tony just looks at him, his expression somewhere between worry, amusement, and something suspiciously like pity. “This is why I don’t give you the good stuff.”

Bucky ignores him, waiting until he can breathe evenly before he takes another drink, this one far closer to a sip. Tony’s driver, Happy, takes them to Bucky’s place and parks. Bucky just rests his head against the seat again. “Do you know anything more about what happened?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

Bucky nods. “It’s probably good they didn’t let me see him. Imagine it’s against hospital protocol or something to punch someone in a coma.”

“Probably.” Tony looks like he’s actually considering what the ramifications might be. “Plus, you know, if you wait until they’re awake, they’ll actually feel and remember it, which I imagine is the goal.”

Bucky sighs. “You know I would never ask you to hack into the hospital computers to look at his chart, right?”

“Of course not. And you know I would never look to see that he’s breathing on his own, his eardrums are healing, minimal body damage, and he’s been in a coma for six weeks. They had to wait until he was breathing on his own and not through the tube to send him back.”

He closes his eyes tight. “And I would never ask you to find a way to bend the rules so I can get in to see him?”

“And I would never work on such a thing, because I would probably find out that I can’t unless you’re secretly married. Or he was smart enough to list you as his next of kin, which doesn’t appear to be the case.” He shakes his head, expression incredulous. “Who the fuck goes to war and doesn’t list a next of kin?”

“Someone who doesn’t have one.” Bucky sighs. “Fuck. Today has been a long day and it’s only eight.”

“Go inside. Get some sleep. I’ll keep working on it, okay?”

“Despite popular belief, you need sleep too.”

“Eh. It’s debatable.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen you after fifty-two hours. It’s not debatable.” Bucky gets out of the car and leans back in. “Thank you.”

“For giving you shitty news?”

“Better than never getting any news at all. I’d never have known. And, knowing Steve, if he ever got back in touch with me, he’d never tell me it happened. So thank you.”

“You know I hate it when you do that.”

Bucky smiles. “I know. That’s why I do it.”

“You’re a dick.”

Bucky knocks on the roof of the car. “That’s why we get along so well.”

**

Sleep refuses to come, even though he’s exhausted, which means he can’t even say he’s sleepwalking through the next week and a half. Zombie-ing maybe. He gets put in the office at the shop, because no one trusts him with heavy equipment. It sucks, because at least when he’s working on cars, he can lose himself in it. The office just gives him time to think.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when his phone rings. He glances at it and sees “Brooklyn VA Medical Center” on the screen. “Barnes. Bucky Barnes. Sergeant James Banes. Yes? Hello?”

“Sergeant Barnes? This is Private Emily Adams? From the hospital?”

“Is he awake? Can I come and see him? Did you give him my number? Is he okay?”

“Did you say Bucky?”

“It’s a family name, long story.”

“He’s very groggy, but he’s asking for Bucky.”

“I’m Bucky. Fuck yes. I’m Bucky. I’ll be right there.” He gathers his jacket and yells into the shop. “I have to go. Sorry.” He winces as he realizes he forgot to cover the phone. “Shit. sorry. Thank you. I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up as he hits the sidewalk outside the shop, then runs back inside. “Jones! I’m stealing your car. Sorry!”

He’s lucky he doesn’t get pulled over, and he narrowly misses a few cars and pedestrians on his way. He yells sorry out of his window a lot. He nearly clips an ambulance as he roars into the parking lot, swinging the car into a spot haphazardly before running inside.

Emily is standing at the desk. She smiles, then furrows her brow when she sees him. “How far away were you?”

“Steve. Please.”

She gives him directions to Steve’s room, different than the last time, and he runs there, dodging around people until he’s standing outside the door trying to catch his breath. The door opens and a nurse comes out. She looks Bucky over head to toe. “You must be him.”

“Please. Can I go in?”

“He tires really easy. Don’t upset him. Don’t wear him out. Any one of those monitors beeps, I’m kicking you out immediately.”

“Yes, sir. Ma’am.” He nods and brushes past her, slipping into the room and pulling the privacy curtain back. It’s a shared room, but the other bed is empty, and Bucky just stares because Steve looks so small. Never as small as he used to be, but closer to that than how he’s looked for the last twenty or so years. Bucky stands there, not moving,because he’s not sure he can do much else. He finally clears his throat quietly. “Hey, Stevie.”

Steve blinks, and it seems to take him a while to focus. “Buck?”

“Yeah. It okay if I come in?”

“Yeah. Sure. Of course.” Steve raises his bed so he’s reclining rather than lying down. “What are you doing here?”

“They said you were asking for me.”

“Oh.” He closes his eyes again. Bucky walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, taking Steve’s hand. “I guess I was. My memory’s a little fuzzy since the explosion.”

“Well, my understanding is that you were comatose for a majority of it, so I’m not sure there’s a lot of memory to have. What did the doctor say?”

“She wrote it out for me, since I wasn’t retaining stuff well. Drifting.” He points to the rolling table. Bucky grabs the envelope and opens it, pulling out three papers. He skims through it, frowning occasionally and throwing quick glances at Steve. “You look like I’m dying.”

“No. You’re better. Much better. Just...they say you’re going to need PT.”

“Yeah. They said I did something to my hip when I landed. I’m going to have trouble walking for a while. It’s all in there, I think.” He closes his eyes again. “‘M gonna take a nap now.”

“Yeah. Get some rest.” It doesn’t take Steve long to fall asleep, and Bucky stays on the side of the bed. Steve’s still tanned from the desert, but it’s fading some from being inside. Bucky remembers the first time he saw Steve half-undressed, his broad back golden in the Iraqi sunlight. 

He reaches out, hand shaking slightly, brushing Steve’s too-long bangs off his forehead. He keeps leaning forward, pressing his head to Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s hand comes up and cradles the back of Bucky’s head, though it’s clear from Steve’s breathing that he’s still asleep, the action a reaction to Bucky’s touch.

Bucky releases a shaky breath and doesn’t move even when his back starts hurting from the position. Steve makes a noise and Bucky kisses his shoulder. “Shh. It’s okay.”

Steve turns his head, nuzzling at Bucky’s temple. “Buck?”

“Right here, Stevie.”

Steve buries his nose in Bucky’s hair, his breath warm against the top of Bucky’s ear. “Love you.”

Bucky nods, throat tight. “Love you too.”

He stays there, breathing Steve in through the overwhelming scent of the hospital. He needs a shower and a toothbrush, but Bucky doesn’t care. He doesn’t know how long he’s been there when the sound of the privacy curtain being pulled back makes him jerk away. Steve whines and reaches out, and Bucky grabs his hand and squeezes. 

“Well, Captain. You’re looking better this afternoon. Company must agree with you.” The doctor comes over and guides Steve’s bed up further so he’s completely upright. Steve groans softly “Still having the pain?”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut before exhaling roughly and nodding. “Yeah,” he manages to grunt out. 

“Better or worse?”

“Same as this morning.”

“Reclining okay?”

“Not as bad.” 

“Hmm.” The doctor starts looking Steve over, checking his eyes and ears, heart and lungs. “Did you give any thought to what we talked about earlier? I’ll need to give them a decision soon.”

“One rehab is the same as any other.” He shrugs, wincing slightly. “Just choose. I don’t have anywhere else to go if you won’t let me go home.”

“You can’t go home alone, and you know it. Besides, they’re already processing your discharge and your medal. You’ll need to find somewhere besides the barracks to live soon anyway.”

“He can stay with me.”

“No.” Steve looks at Bucky, his voice hard. “No. I can’t.”

“I have a spare room. No strings attached.” He reaches out and touches Steve’s wrist, turning his hand so his fingers are on Steve’s pulse point. “Or you could stay with Tony.”

“I’m _not_ staying with Tony Stark. And I’m not staying with you. Your family hates me. Your friends hate me. I’m sure someone from the church has a spare room.”

“You’re not leaving town.” Bucky snaps. “You’re staying here and either I’m taking care of you or Tony is. You damn near got yourself killed out there, and I’m not going to lose you. So make a choice.”

Steve looks at the doctor, who’s watching them with amusement. “Fine. Send me to the one in Jersey.” Steve closes his eyes in defeat, using the remote to lower the bed down flat again.

“You are _not_ going to Jersey. First because it’s _Jersey_ and second, because we’re not running away from each other anymore. Maybe we’re not going to be anything, but I am _not_ letting you leave. Not again.”

The doctor interrupts. “I’m going to leave you two alone for a while. I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you again, Captain.”

The doctor leaves, and as soon as he hears the door shut, Bucky turns back to Steve. He holds his face so he can’t look away from Bucky. “There is no moving on from you. Okay? I tried. And maybe you don’t feel the same. That’s fine. But I’m not going to let you martyr yourself. You’re not getting sainthood, so it’s pointless.”

“Seriously?” Steve fights the shadow of a smile. “That’s your argument? Sainthood and martyrdom?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“Bucky you have a life and a job and a life an--” 

“I want you.” Bucky cuts in before he shuts him up with a kiss. At first it’s just pressure to keep Steve from talking, but then Bucky tilts his head to the side and he’s not sure who opens their mouth first. It doesn’t stop, can’t stop. Bucky slides his hands up into Steve’s hair and controls the kiss, turning Steve where he needs him, where he wants him. 

Steve moans into his mouth and grabs Bucky’s hip. Bucky pulls back just enough to take a deep breath, and Steve whines, pulling him back in. It’s graceless and desperate and Steve practically jerks Bucky up onto the bed, on top of him. 

Steve groans, this time in pain, and Bucky rolls off of him. Steve tilts his head back and gasps, reaching for one of the controls hooked to his bed. He presses it twice and then, slowly, the pain etched on his face fades away. “N-none of that for a while.”

Bucky leans in and rests his forehead against Steve’s. “We’re clear?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “We’re clear.”

**

“_Fuck_!” 

There’s a huge clatter and Bucky comes out of the kitchen. Steve is on the floor on his ass and his cane is across the room. “You destroy the TV again, you’re buying a new one.” 

“Fuck you and fuck your TV,” Steve growls “And fuck your stupid fucking tennis shoes which we _agreed_ you wouldn’t leave in the middle of the goddamned fucking floor.”

“You are very testy today. Did you not get your nap?”

Bucky’s pretty sure that if Steve still had his cane, he would be throwing it at Bucky. As it is, he looks like he’s about to get off the floor, grab it, and impale Bucky with it. And while Bucky’s all for being good motivation for Steve, he really doesn’t have a death wish.

“Need help?”

“Fuck off.”

Steve’s been doing PT for a month now and he’s gone from a walker to crutches to the cane quickly. Of course, not quickly enough for Steve. Bucky watches as Steve braces himself on the table and slowly stands, wincing in pain more than once. He’s obviously been doing too much, because that’s the only time he can’t seem to hide the pain from Bucky.

“Sit down.”

“You’re not my mother.”

“Yeah, only because I actually put up with some of your bullshit. Now sit down.” Bucky points to the chair that’s the easiest for Steve to get in and out of. He looks like he’s going to argue or spite Bucky by sitting down somewhere else, but at least he’s got enough self-preservation instincts not to. Bucky walks over and grabs Steve’s cane. “You been on your feet all day?”

“No, I just spent a chunk of it on my ass on the ground.”

“Wow. You say your prayers with that mouth?” Bucky looks skyward, shaking his head. 

“I do a lot of things with this mouth.” Steve glares at him, though it doesn't do anything to take away the heat that roils through Bucky at the thought. Steve blows out a breath, closes his eyes, and thumps his head on the back of the chair. “Fuck. How was work?”

Bucky bends and grabs his tennis shoes and puts them away. He’s usually better about it, but he’d gotten a call when he got home and he’d sat on the couch to take it and kicked his shoes off. Settling on the couch, he sits so he’s kitty-corner to Steve. 

“Not bad. Remember the old guy I told you about? With the car?”

“You practically jerked off while telling me about that car. How could I forget?”

“We were texting. You have no idea what I was doing with the metal hand.” Bucky sniffs, faux-offended. “Anyway, he joined this group of other old guys with classic cars, and you are now looking at their chief mechanic for shit they can’t figure out or fix on their own.”

“Nice.” Steve’s massaging his hip, and Bucky’s pretty sure he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “That’s great for you and the shop.”

“Yeah.” Bucky grabs the heating pad from its spot in the magazine rack and hands it to Steve. He glares a little, but turns it on and puts it on his hip. “New revenue even if it is going to be sporadic. But they’re going to put our card out there in the collector’s world, with some of the, and I’m not shitting you here, other old kooks with cars they race with.”

Steve blinks a couple of times and then laughs, biting his lower lip quickly to make himself stop. He hasn’t completely lost the pain from two broken and five bruised ribs, as well as a few bruised organs. But, at least as far as Bucky knows, he’s stopped peeing blood. “Do they race for pinks or something?”

“Bragging rights at the senior center.” Bucky kicks his legs up on the couch and rests his shoulder on the back cushion, settling his temple against his fist. “I’m sorry you’re so frustrated.”

“You know how I am. I need to get it done right now, and I get upset when it takes time for me to figure it out.” He shrugs. “Plus, I’m sure you want to get back to your life.”

“This is my life.” It’s Bucky’s turn to shrug. “I date occasionally. Not a lot. Have a few guys from the shop that I hang out with every other week or so. Stay home. Watch movies.”

“You were going to settle down.”

“No. You told me not to let you stop me from finding things in life -- wife, husband, kids, whatever -- and I promised I wouldn’t. It didn’t work out. No one ever managed to be the right someone I wanted all that with.”

Steve nods. “We could go out. I could wear my collar. Be your wingman. Ladies? You see that handsome man over there? He’s such a nice young man. I give you my blessing to ride his brains out.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Would you?”

“What?”

“Give them permission? Your _blessing_?” He swings his legs down onto the floor and sits up straight. “Hmm? Would you just stand by if I decided to bring one of them home? Fuck her in the next room?”

“I don’t have any right to give anyone permission to fuck you.” Steve looks at Bucky and then away. “I want you to be happy.”

“Do you really?”

“Will you take me to church on Sunday?”

Bucky sits there for a moment, stunned, and then he laughs. “Yeah, Steve. Yeah. I’ll take you to church. Father.” He gets up and goes back into the kitchen, pans clattering as he gets things out to make dinner. The desire to smack Steve upside the head with the skillet makes his hand itch, but instead he just slams it onto the stove. 

It’s nearly a half hour later, and dinner’s nearly ready when he hears the light thump of Steve’s cane. He stands in the doorway of the kitchen and leans on the jamb, watching Bucky closely. “It was weird. Being over there without you. Was it strange for you when I left?”

“Yeah. Took a while to get back into a rhythm. The way you and I worked together… I’ve never had that with anyone else. I mean, Natasha and I were good, but our fighting styles were really similar. You and I complemented each other better, I think.”

“You’ll be glad to know that the ratio of appreciating chaplains to actively antagonizing them remains the same.”

“Yeah, but you got a snazzy embroidered cross on your uniform.”

“That is true.” Steve looks at the ground, avoiding Bucky’s eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

“Everything? Life.” He turns his head and presses it against the doorjamb. “Do you know what laicization is?”

“Nope.” He turns off the stove and the oven and leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. He knows he looks defensive, but something about Steve's body language has him on edge.

“It’s the loss of clerical state. It can be voluntary or ordered. You no longer have a title. You can’t preach. Can’t administer Holy Communion. Can’t teach in the field. Can’t be involved with a seminary. About the only thing it doesn't take away is the vow of celibacy. The Pope has to do that.”

“Like defrocking?”

“That’s sort of a layman’s term for it. The Catholic Church doesn’t recognize that term. But yes.” He inhales deeply, then slowly lets the breath out. “It’s not suspension or excommunication, but it’s a pretty severe punishment. Most of the time, at least in the past several years, it’s been used, most notably, to rid the priesthood of pedophiles.”

“But people do it voluntarily too?”

“Yeah. Most of them do it to be allowed to marry, though again, there’s officially the celibacy rule. Some people do it for family reasons. Some for issues with doctrine.”

“Huh.”

“Before I re-enlisted, I was pulled aside by my Bishop. He had heard I was… Struggling. He suggested that going back to the Army where I’d found my faith again would be good, would help me. I didn’t think I needed help. I thought I was doing okay.” 

“But you weren’t?” Bucky lets his hands fall. He wants to reach out and touch Steve, not completely sure where he’s going with all of this but desperately, desperately hoping what he suspects is true.

“Apparently not. They… I notified him when I was awake that I was back in the States. He’s going to be at St. Augustine’s on Sunday. To hear my confession. And discuss my future.”

“They’re going to kick you out? Lyconize you or whatever?”

“Laicize. I don’t know.”

“They can’t hold your confession against you! That’s against the rules! _Their_ rules!”

“They’re probably right to do it.” Steve runs his hand through his hair. “I love you. I want you. Constantly. And the slightest touch from you knocks down all my defenses. And I’ve tried stopping. Hell, Father Hammond told me to try self-flagellation, and I think I found a new kink.”

Bucky snorts. “Oh, shit. Don’t tell me that.”

“It was easier before I knew how you felt. I thought it was one-sided and so it was easier to not think about, because it wouldn’t happen. And then you came to see me and the whole world turned upside down. And can I teach the word of God when I can’t…”

“Other churches let their priests marry. Encourage them. It’s love, Steve. There’s nothing wrong with it. Your book even says so.” He takes a step forward and stops, watching Steve to make sure he’d welcome the approach. When he doesn’t move, when he just looks at Bucky with wide, blue eyes, Bucky keeps walking until he’s right in front of him. “You can love God and the church without devoting your life to it. Not having your title doesn’t make you any less devout. Doesn’t make you any less than what you are with it.”

“Your family still hates me.”

“They‘ll get over it.”

“They don’t even know I’m here, do they?”

“They’ll learn to deal with it.” Bucky steps closer and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. “What if he doesn’t? De-priest you?”

Steve coughs out a laugh. “What’s in my head and what’s in my heart are arguing with each other constantly, and both of their arguments are valid.”

“Which one likes me best?”

Steve bends his head and kisses Bucky’s temple. “There isn’t a part of me that doesn’t like you very, very much.”

“How about this? We’ll eat dinner. You’ll do the dishes since I cooked. We’ll watch a cheesy 80s movie. We’ll go to bed and talk about this tomorrow. Both of us sleep on it. And I’ll tell you what I think and you can tell me what you think about what I think and vice versa. Maybe you’ll be able to figure it out then.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re stomach’s growling, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. Shut up.” Bucky moves away. “Set the table, you freeloader.”

**

It wasn’t until Saturday night that Bucky actually got a chance to sit down with Steve. They’d had a car come in late at work, and then, the next day, his mom had called him over for Sabbath dinner since he hadn’t been in months. When he wakes up late Saturday thanks to the wine hangover he has his sister to thank for, Steve is out of the apartment.

Bucky scratches his ass through his boxers as he stares at the calendar on the fridge. Sometimes Steve has PT on the weekends, but it’s not written down, and when Bucky checks the calendar on his phone, there’s no note there either. He walks to Steve’s room and looks at it through squinted eyes. The door’s open and Steve’s things are there, so it’s not like he’s disappeared for good. 

But apparently a quarter to noon is way too fucking early for Bucky to process more than that. “Coffee,” he tells himself, going back to the kitchen and making a pot, adding an extra scoop because Rebecca is a wine demon. He calls her, just to be an asshole. She groans instead of saying anything.

“You deserve it. You deserve all the suffering in the world. All of it. Abraham’s suffering pales in comparison to what you deserve. You are a devil woman.”

“Fuck off.” Rebecca groans again. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon. Why do you hate me?”

“You called me!”

“Wow. Loud. Not so loud. Ow.” The coffee maker beeps and he doesn’t even wait for the last drops to filter through before he’s pouring himself a large cup, setting the pot back on the sizzling surface. “Why did you bring wine. You know I can’t drink wine without wanting to die the next morning.”

“Why are you blaming me for the fact that you drank it?”

“I wouldn’t have had any if you hadn’t brought it.”

“Whatever.” He can hear her fall back against her pillow. “Hey, if we’re not dead by tonight, you want to go out with some high school friends? Ellen and Brandon and John and James and, what was that girl in your class. You know the one.”

“Jennifer?”

“Sure. We’re all going to get together, have a few drinks of not-wine. Just hang out. C’mon. It’ll be fun. And you know you haven’t had that in a long time. You’re an old man, you know that?”

He walks into the living room and sits down. “I like being an old man.”

“Yeah, well, Mom wants more grandchildren, and you’re not going to make any sitting in your apartment. And you’re not allowed to have Tony make you any weird robotic ones. Mom won’t go for that.”

“Why do I have to be the one providing grandkids?”

“Because I have three and that’s more than enough for one woman to take.”

“Or you and Jim are fighting and not having sex.” He looks up as the door opens and waves at Steve, putting his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and mouthing Rebecca’s name.

Steve nods and heads to his bedroom, and Bucky just stares. Steve’s wearing running shorts and a running shirt and there is a lot of leg and arm and neck and sweat. He pulls his shirt off just as he walks through the door, and his glorious, broad back is on display for a few short seconds before the door closes.

“...ucky? Are you even listening?”

“Um. Sorry, Becks. Just uh… Reading an email. Look, I have to go, all right. I’ll let you know about tonight. I promise.”

“You’d better.” She sounds threatening, and Bucky can imagine her glare. “Fuck, I need coffee.”

“Go get some. It’ll help. Love you.” He hangs up after her reply and leans back on the couch. He and Steve have very carefully avoided anything that could be construed as sexually inviting. Between Steve’s injuries healing and Bucky’s promise of no strings attached, they’ve been in a weird limbo since Steve moved in. 

But that was a _lot_ of Steve.

Bucky goes back into his bedroom and leans against the wall next to the bathroom door. It’s a pass-through bathroom, connecting both bedrooms, and whoever’s inside locks the other person’s door. Bucky can hear the shower running, heard the door shut behind Steve as he climbs in. Hear Steve react to the water with a soft groan.

Bucky tells himself to walk away. He is absolutely not going to stand there and listen to Steve shower. Definitely not going to stand there and hope that Steve jerks off, that he thinks of Bucky, that he says Bucky’s name. 

Fuck.

Bucky knocks. “Hey, let me know when you’re done in there, okay?”

There’s a pause that’s uncomfortably long, and then Steve answers. “Okay. Shouldn’t be long.”

“Great. And there’s coffee made, so.” Bucky presses his forehead to the door. He is an idiot. 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

He forces himself to go back out to the living room, to sit back on the couch and drink his coffee. He turns on the TV and stares at it without actually paying attention to what's on the screen. He’s not sure how much time passes before Steve’s bedroom door opens and he walks out.

He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and he’s toweling off his hair, and Bucky can’t help but rake his gaze over him. He manages to meet Steve’s eyes, and he wonders if he’s blushing as much as Steve is, because his face feels like it’s burning up. 

“Did you run?”

“Treadmill and some leg exercises. Never going to get rid of the cane if I slack off.”

“The PT said not to do too much.”

“I know.”

“And you have a tendency to overdo things.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t want you to hurt yourself worse.”

“Buck.” Steve ruffles Bucky’s hair as he walks past him to the kitchen to pour himself some coffee. He brings the pot out with him and pours more for Bucky. “I know.”

“I just worry.”

“I know.” Steve sets the coffee pot on the table, balanced on a coaster, then settles down on the opposite end of the couch, setting his feet on the middle cushion, knees bent toward his chest. “You were out late. Hot date?”

“Ha. No. I was with the family and Rebecca brought wine because she’s a horrible person.”

“Why do you drink wine? You know what it does to you.” He extends one foot and pokes Bucky in the thigh. “Grumpy, pissy, angry at the world, disgruntled, snappy.” He punctuates every word with a poke until Bucky’s metal fingers wrap around his ankle. “I guess not too different than normal.”

“Do not make me tickle you, Steven.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I wouldn’t?” Bucky raises his eyebrows and very deliberately sets his coffee down. Steve squirms and tries to back out of Bucky’s grip, barely managing to put his own coffee down before Bucky tugs Steve’s foot closer and holds it still with the metal hand and uses the other to brush against his bare foot.

Steve starts laughing and flailing, trying to kick Bucky away. Bucky traps his other leg under his own and laughs deviously as his hand skims up Steve’s calf to his knee. He scrapes his nails lightly against the skin and suddenly Steve’s not laughing. Bucky looks up at him, directly into Steve’s eyes, his pupils dilated.

Bucky keeps watching him, not looking away as he leans in, pressing a kiss to just above the back of Steve’s knee on his inner thigh. Even feeling it through the denim, Steve whines softly, high in his throat. Bucky waits for a moment, still watching Steve. Steve doesn’t say no. Doesn’t try to stop Bucky or move away. He just holds Bucky’s gaze steadily and licks his lips and swallows hard.

Bucky brushes another kiss on Steve’s leg, just above the last. He shifts so that one of his feet is on the floor and his other leg is bent, knee between Steve’s slightly spread thighs. Another kiss, then Bucky catches the denim between his teeth and tugs, letting the scraping sound echo with his and Steve’s breathing. 

He catches the seam of Steve’s jeans and looks up to make sure Steve’s watching as he licks up the fabric to Steve’s crotch. Steve’s lashes flutter against his cheeks and Bucky just watches, bracing himself and moving forward so his face is just inches from Steve’s. 

“I’m going to take you into my bedroom,” Bucky says softly, promises. “I’m going to work you open, and I’m going to sit there while you slide down on my cock, and I’m going to jerk you off while you ride me.”

Steve makes a noise that Bucky doesn’t have a name for, but it sounds positive, and that's all he needs to know. 

He grabs the pull tab on Steve’s jeans and slides it slowly up and down, and there’s no reason for the sound to be so fucking hot, but it is. He’s not even watching it move up and down over the bulge in Steve’s jeans. Just listening to it as he holds Steve’s lidded gaze. “You want that?”

“Y-yes.” Steve nods, breathing faster. His hips roll up and he thrusts against the back of Bucky’s knuckles as he slides the zipper down again. “Fuck. So much.”

Bucky kisses him, hard and deep, hungry. Every time he gets to kiss Steve is like the first time, like he’s been starving for it all his life, and he wants to gorge himself. Steve pulls Bucky down on top of him, and even the soft, faded denim of Steve’s jeans is rough against the thin cotton of Bucky’s boxers. 

Steve grabs Bucky’s ass and holds him, thrusting up hard against him as Bucky buries his face against Steve’s neck, sucking at the hinge of Steve’s jaw. “Steve. Shit.” Bucky forces himself to pull away, panting roughly as he gets back on one knee. “Bed, or I’m going to come in my boxers, and I’m far too old to do that, especially when there’s a perfectly good bed -- two perfectly good beds -- a few feet away.” 

He gets up on shaky legs and tugs Steve so he’s sitting up and then on his feet. He looks down at the opening of Steve’s fly so that the hard curve of Steve’s cock in his boxer briefs is visible, so he can see the flushed, leaking head of it pushing out above the waistband.

Bucky grabs Steve by the dog tags he’s still wearing and pulls him into the bedroom. Steve sheds his shirt, then his pants and underwear while Bucky strips off his boxers. Bucky walks up to him, barely any room between them, and wraps his hand around Steve’s cock, stroking it slowly. 

“Bend over the side of the bed so I can open you up. More support for your hip.”

Steve laughs weakly. “Right.” 

Bucky squeezes just the right side of too hard if the way Steve rises onto his toes is any indication. Steve gasps and Bucky kisses him hard and fast. “Don’t get too excited. Might have to use a little of that flagellation to calm you down.”

Steve’s groan is thick in his throat and he sways against Bucky. “Please.”

“Kneel beside the bed, lean on the mattress.” Steve nods and does as he’s told, licking his dry lips. He lays his chest flat on the bed, back arched, ass in the air. “Holy fuck,” Bucky whispers under his breath, not sure how long he stares until Steve wriggles and whimpers and Bucky snaps out of his daze and goes to the bedside table for lube and condoms.

He looks over, and Steve’s watching him, eyes hot and intent. Bucky can practically feel Steve’s gaze moving over him, and he shivers. He grabs what he needs and kneels on the mattress, curling on the bed so he’s in front of Steve, tilting his head up for a kiss. He just means for it to be brief, but instead it lingers, building as Bucky stretches out on the bed and deepens the kiss. 

When they break apart, Seve is panting roughly through his smile. “You’re easily distracted.”

Bucky runs his hand over the curve of Steve’s ass and squeezes lightly. “You’re very distracting.” He kisses him again, then slides off the bed, hand trailing down Steve’s back as he goes, not wanting to lose touch with him. Steve shivers and hums as Bucky traces his spine down to his tailbone, then down between the globes of Steve’s ass. 

“O-oh.”

Bucky chuckles softly then leans down to press another kiss, this time against Steve’s tailbone. “So fucking beautiful, Stevie.”

Steve buries his face against the mattress. “Shut up.”

This time Bucky scrapes his teeth over his tailbone and Steve jerks and stiffens before relaxing again. Bucky replaces his teeth with a kiss, clicking open the lube with one hand. He wants to laugh, because he’s shaking and this isn’t even their first time, but something about the looming thought that Steve might give up the priesthood and they can have this without reservation, without guilt, makes it feel even more overwhelming than the first time.

He uses his metal hand to push Steve’s legs apart, then uses his fingers to spread Steve’s ass. His hole is tight and red and Bucky can’t help putting his mouth against it. Steve whines and Bucky laughs, letting the sound vibrate against him. He sees Steve bury his face against the mattress again, so he pulls back and traces one lubed up finger over the damp remains of his kiss.

He sees and feels the tremble that goes through Steve’s body as he circles the puckered skin over and over and over, occasionally swiping his fingertip over Steve’s opening. Steve’s breathing hard, and Bucky can remember the desperate sound of Steve’s asthma attacks, the sound of fighting against his own body as he struggled to get air. The sound is similar, but this one is all need for something else.

Finally, when Steve starts thrusting back against the touch, Bucky slowly presses his finger inside. Even with his finger just to the first knuckle, Steve is tight and hot hot around him. Bucky carefully rubs the skin, slowly stroking his finger in deeper with shallow thrusts. He finally pushes past the second ring of muscle and thrusts slowly.

When he pulls back, he leaves his finger just at the rim before pushing back inside like he has all the time in the world, until the base of his hand presses to the sides of Steve’s ass. He rubs the sensitive skin inside him with barely-there strokes, crooking his finger each time.

Steve whimpers after the first several minutes. “Buck, please.”

Bucky ignores him, just using one finger until Steve starts thrusting back against him again. Bucky presses his metal fingers into the meat of Steve’s ass to still him. “Want something?”

Steve groans, the sound strained. “Please.”

“Mm. Ask.”

“Please, Bucky.”

“Tell me what you want. I want to hear it.” He presses a kiss to one cheek, letting his stubble scrape the pale skin. “Tell me.”

“Another.” Steve drops his head to the bed again. “Another finger. F-fuck me with two.”

Bucky releases the hold he has on Steve with his metal hand so he can grab the lube, drizzling some along the crack of Steve’s ass. Steve hisses sharply, the sound fading as he buries his face in the comforter.

Bucky swipes a second finger through the fresh lube, pushing it in alongside the first finger with his next stroke.

“Yes,” Steve draws it out in a hiss. “Oh, yes.”

Steve’s body stretches around Bucky’s fingers to accommodate him, but he’s still so tight. Bucky keeps his slow pace until Steve's writhing. He can’t understand what Steve’s saying, all of his words muffled by the comforter he’s pulled loose, pulled close in his grip.

He bites Steve’s left cheek and revels in the resulting yelp. He cuts it off with his next thrust as he pushes three fingers inside Steve. He’s just been thrusting, not really working Steve open, and his body clenches tight around the thick penetration. Steve’s whole body jerks and he gasps for air. His movement pulls Bucky’s fingers deeper, and Bucky’s sure he hears a sob.

“Okay? I’ve got you.”

“P-p-please.” Steve turns his head to the side. His voice breaks. “Please, Buck.”

Steve’s shaking, falling apart. Bucky finally starts to stretch him, spreading his fingers and thrusting slowly, and every movement earns him a noise, lush and pornographic. Bucky knows he should open Steve up more, but the sight and sound of him is too much.

He tears the condom open with his teeth and works it on one-handed, then moves forward as he pulls his fingers free. Steve moans roughly, sobbing. Bucky presses the tip of his cock to Steve’s hole and pushes in slowly.

Steve’s breath hitches, and he tries to pull away, but Bucky grabs his hips and holds him still while he rolls his hips forward, moving deeper in steady increments. By the time he’s fully sheathed, both of them are breathing hard.

Bucky tightens his grip further, pulling Steve back so he's straddling Bucky’s thighs, back against Bucky’s chest. He presses his head against the back of Steve’s neck. “Fuck. Love being inside you. So hot. So tight.”

Steve hiccups a sob and reaches back, wrapping his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky flexes his legs, calves tightening, thighs raising. “Want you to ride me. Want to feel you sinking down on me, be buried inside you.” Steve clenches around him, and Bucky sucks in a breath, his fingers digging into Steve’s hips.

“Yeah. Yes.” Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s spine. “Like that. Ride me hard.” He thrusts up again, and this time Steve sinks down to meet him. Bucky whispers his name against Steve’s skin.

Steve shivers, goosebumps decorating his skin. His thighs flex, muscles defined under his skin. And then he starts to move in earnest, fucking himself slowly on Bucky’s cock. Bucky slides one hand from Steve’s hip up his chest, metal fingers catching a nipple and pinching lightly. Steve’s hips stutter and he grabs onto Bucky’s thigh to steady himself. 

His head falls back as Bucky squeezes, twists lightly. His head is turned slightly so his breath fans over Bucky’s throat. He hums softly, almost a whine as his ass clenches, pulling Bucky deeper. He lets out a damp, shaky breath that feathers against Bucky’s neck. “So good.”

“Perfect,” Bucky corrects him. “You fit me perfectly. Made for me.”

Steve manages a kiss to Bucky’s jaw and then he straightens, moving faster over Bucky. Bucky moans softly and moves his fingers to Steve’s other nipple, his other hand over Steve’s stomach and down over the dark gold trail of hair that leads to his cock. Bucky wraps his hand around it, and it fits as perfectly into his palm as his cock fits in Steve. 

Steve’s whole body trembles as Bucky starts stroking him in time with Steve’s thrusts, the hand on his nipple turned into a firm line of support to keep Steve upright. Steve keeps moving, his breath falling in rhythm with his increasing speed, and it feels like he’s getting tighter rather than looser and more stretched around Bucky.

He bites Steve’s earlobe. “Want to come inside you, Stevie. Fill you up. Gonna bury myself inside you and lose control.”

Steve nods desperately. Bucky keeps stroking him, wrapping the metal arm around Steve’s waist for better balance. Steve is barely moving off Bucky’s lap, grinding down against him, knees tightening. He wraps a hand around Bucky’s metal wrist and then his other over Bucky’s hand so they’re both stroking him. 

“Steve. Fuck. Steve.” Bucky’s own hips jerk upward and then his back arches as he holds himself taut, buried inside Steve as he comes. Steve cries out quietly and Bucky can feel the heat of Steve’s orgasm spill over both of their hands, and he uses it as lubrication to keep stroking him until Steve’s writhing on his lap, begging for Bucky to stop.

They stay there, not moving for a few moments, until Bucky can feel his come sliding down his cock toward the base of the condom. He carefully angles Steve forward so he’s lying on the mattress again before he slides out. He disposes of the condom and grabs a washcloth to clean them both up. Bucky comes back and kneels behind Steve, draping himself over his back. 

“Okay?” He whispers.

Steve nods and turns his head, his eyes closed, lashes fanned across his cheeks. Bucky kisses Steve’s shoulder, his jaw. “Keep you like this forever.”

Steve smiles without opening his eyes. “My knees’ll get sore.”

He rubs his fingers in a slow circle on Steve’s healing hip. “This sore?”

“Little.”

“Let’s get you up on the mattress.” He moves away, regretting every moment he’s not pressed against Steve. He gets to his feet and then helps Steve stand. He sways a little, and he winces as he straightens. Bucky urges him onto the bed, then crawls up after him, grabbing the wrinkled comforter and pulling it up over them. “Did you have plans for the day?”

“This. Can we count this as plans?”

Bucky rubs his thumb over the sharp line of Steve’s cheekbone. “My thoughts exactly.”

**

The church is impressive. Bucky stands across the street from it, looking it over. “Wow.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Steve is dressed in a suit, dark blue with a white shirt and a black tie, and if it weren’t for the look Steve’s had on his face all morning, Bucky wouldn’t have let him out of the house. He’d have dragged him back to the bed and taken his time peeling the suit off of him.

To be honest, they wouldn’t have gotten out of bed. Waking up, opening his eyes and seeing Steve, relaxed and naked, lying on his back with one arm on his stomach and the other thrown over his head, made Bucky’s breath stutter. He wanted to freeze the moment, keep it suspended in amber so nothing could take it away.

Looking at Steve now, watching him stare at the church, makes his heart beat faster in completely different ways. He’d seen how Steve was with his congregation. He’d actually listened to Steve give sermons, and his devotion, his love of the church and what he did was easily visible. It sat easily on his shoulders in the same way command always had. 

Steve had adopted the Marine Corps motto of “no man left behind” and made it his own personal mantra. Being a priest was leveling up, refusing to let anyone who believed as he did not reach heaven or however Steve saw his afterlife. And right now, even though he hasn’t said a word, Bucky is asking him to give that up.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“What?” Steve turns and looks at Bucky, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t have any right to expect you to do this. To ask you to do this.”

“You’re not.” Steve turns to look at him. Bucky shoves his hands into his pockets. Steve copies Bucky’s stance. “You’re not asking me to do anything.”

“Would you be doing this if it weren’t for me?”

“Okay.” Steve reaches out and grabs Bucky’s wrist, tugging his hand free of his jeans. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Bucky refuses to move, refusing to give in to Steve’s pull. He glances over at the church and shakes his head. “No.”

“Not there. Over there.” He threads his fingers with Bucky’s and heads down the street to one of the ubiquitous coffee shops. He nods toward a table and lets Bucky go as he heads toward the counter. Bucky sits down and looks out the plate-glass window, watching as people go by. A lot of them are dressed up, heading down the sidewalk toward the church, crossing the street and disappearing inside the doors. He doesn’t know how long he sits there staring, long enough that he doesn’t hear the barista call Steve’s name, doesn’t notice anything until Steve sits down across from him.

He starts as his view of the outside is cut off by Steve, blinking rapidly until his eyes focus on him. His hands immediately go to the coffee as Steve slides it across the table, cradling it and letting the warmth suffuse his palms. 

Steve’s just looking at him, and Bucky isn’t sure he wants to decipher the look on his face. Instead he takes a sip of his coffee. It’s exactly the way he likes it, because of course it is. Because when it comes to him and Steve they know each other inside and out in so many ways. 

“You think I’m doing this for you.” 

It’s not a question, but Bucky shrugs in response anyway. “Aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Really?” Bucky raises an eyebrow, looking at Steve pointedly. “If I hadn’t shown up and blown your life to pieces by telling you how I feel about you, you’d be here and not in your church, wearing your collar, telling a bunch of people they can get where they want to go. In life. In your afterlife.”

“I don’t know. But I know that you did. And I know that you having the courage to tell me what you felt, whatever prompted that decision, gave me the courage to be honest with myself and you and tell you _my_ truth.” Steve reaches out and brushes his fingers over Bucky’s wrist. “I love you, Bucky.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Steve pulls his hand back and rakes his fingers through his hair, messing up the carefully styled strands. “I love God. I love what I do. I love helping people find peace, showing them the way to that.” Steve ducks his head slightly so he can look into Bucky’s eyes. “And I love you. And, you’re right, according to the Catholic church, I’m not allowed to do both of those things.”

“You knew you were gay before all of that.”

“You’re right. I did. But I put myself in a position to deny myself that. Maybe I still hated myself a little. Maybe I still felt like I was betraying all the things I knew my mother wanted for me. Maybe I was scared because I couldn’t have both, and I couldn’t have who I wanted. Because I love you and I have for a long time, and I never thought I could have you. That I could have you as more than a friend.” This time Steve looks down, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. “And I thought that who I love might not matter in the eyes of God if I was faithful to Him. If I pushed all those desires aside -- just like any other priest -- and gave myself over to Him.”

“And then I came along.”

“No. That’s where you’re wrong.” When Steve looks at him this time, he’s obviously frustrated, like he’s trying to make a point that Bucky should already see. “You were always there.”

“But you were happy where you were. You would have stayed there.”

Steve pushes his coffee away and leans back in his chair. He drops his hands below the table so Bucky can’t see them, can’t read him as well. His voice, when he speaks, is soft and flat. “You don’t want me to do this.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what you’re saying.” Steve nods and pushes his chair back. “I have to go to church.”

“No. Steve.” Bucky reaches out and grabs the sleeve of Steve’s suit. “I’m scared, okay? I’m scared that you’re going to walk in there and realize you don’t want to give it all up. I’m scared that you’ll give it up and regret it, regret me.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” Bucky shakes his head. “I’m not giving anything up.”

“What if you decide you made a mistake? What if you decide I’m not who you built me up to be in your head. What if you realize what you feel isn’t love, it’s just friendship that got all twisted up in your head in your relief to be alive. What if I was forbidden fruit, and once I’m not, I won’t be what you want or need?”

“I wouldn’t. I don’t…”

“You want me to believe that, right?”

“Of course. It’s the truth.”

“But you won’t believe me.” Steve’s smile is small and sad. “I’m going in there, and I’m going to confess and I’m going to do my penance. And I’m going to ask for the laicization. Because I can’t be who I am and be a Father. That doesn’t mean I love God any less. That doesn’t mean I’m any less his devoted son. It means the Catholic church has a problem with gay men, and I’m a gay man. If I can’t believe what I preach to my congregation, then I’m not a priest. I’m a liar.”

He leans in and kisses Bucky. It’s light and soft and feels dangerously like goodbye. “Steve.”

“Most people who get married? They promise each other forever. I’ve seen them. I’ve helped them. But forever takes trust and love and work and faith, because there is no guarantee that you get it. You’re right. I can’t promise you that I won’t feel or do any of those things in the future. I can’t promise you that we’ll live to be a hundred and love each other for the entirety of that time. But I can offer it and hope like hell that we can get it. There aren’t lifetime guarantees. You have to take promises on faith. That’s all you can do.”

Steve turns and walks away, and Bucky doesn’t follow him. He leans back in his chair and watches him go. He sits there and drinks his coffee, and it tastes like ashes.

**

Bucky watches people filter out of the church, watches the priest shake hands with each of them. He’s not sure how many of them file out before he sees a pair of broad shoulders that he recognizes, that he’s seen bow but never break. He stops at the door and nods to the priest. He doesn’t smile. Neither of them smile, and Bucky realizes that’s not just the priest. That’s the man Steve just confessed to and told he was leaving the priesthood. 

It’s the man who told -- who has been telling -- Steve that loving Bucky is a sin. That God or Jesus or the Holy Spirit or Mary or whoever it is exactly is the bad cop here thinks what Steve and Bucky have and feel is an abomination. Something that offends God.

Fuck that.

Bucky crosses the street, dodging traffic, and walks up the steps until he’s standing next to Steve. Steve glances at him, eyes wide. Bucky hands Steve a fresh coffee and smiles at him before turning to the priest. Before he can say anything, the man holds his hand out. 

“You must be Bucky.”

“I...um. Yes?” He shakes the man’s hand. “Yes.”

“I’m Bishop Henderson. You know, Steven, Our Lord God tells us to love one another.” He looks from Bucky to Steve. “I’ll pray for you both.” 

Steve nods. “Thank you.” 

“Dominus vobiscum.”

“Et cum spiritu tuo.” Steve’s smile is trembling, as is his hand as he reaches out to shake the Bishop’s. “Goodbye, Father.”

“Goodbye, Steven.”

Bucky takes Steve’s hand and guides him down the steps, seeing the tears clouding Steve’s vision when he glances over. He steers them down the street until he hears Steve’s breathing hitch, then he leads Steve out of the flow of traffic. 

Steve starts crying even before Bucky has him wrapped in his arms. His whole body shakes as he sobs, breath shallow like it was back when Steve was smaller. Bucky doesn’t say a word, doesn’t offer platitudes that it will be okay. He simply holds Steve, supports him. 

Eventually Steve pulls back. HIs face is blotchy and he pulls a handkerchief out of his back pocket to wipe the tears and snot off his face. He lets out a trembling breath and looks down at the ground. He’d dropped the coffee Bucky’d bought him. “Sorry.”

He puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezes. He knows Steve isn’t talking about the coffee. “Don’t be. You okay to take the subway, or do you want a cab?”

“Can we walk for a little bit?”

“Sure.” Budky lets his hand slide down Steve’s arm and then laces their fingers together. He stays quiet, occasionally squeezing Steve’s hand. Steve always gives him a slight, shy smile when he does, and Bucky loves every one. They end up in a small neighborhood park, and he leads Steve to the swings. They were always his favorite. 

They sit down side by side and Steve lets go of Bucky’s hand to grab the chains, pushing himself into a slow arc, his dress shoes dragging in the sand. “Thank you.”

“It’s what you do for people you love. Good times and bad, right?” Steve nods, another one of those small smiles. “So. I heard something today. That when you promise someone forever, you don’t really know if that’s what you get. But when you make that promise, you promise to try.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“And so, I was wondering, if maybe you wanted to try. Slowly at first, you know? I know you just sort of broke up with a guy you’d been with for a while. But I like to think he’d be cool with you moving on. Falling in love with someone new.”

“You think that, huh?”

“I really do.” Bucky twists his swing so he’s looking at Steve’s profile. He doesn’t say anything else, but Steve slowly turns to face him as well. “Slow. Because we’d have forever.”

“Promise?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah.” 

Steve takes a deep breath and exhales slowly before nodding as well. “Yeah.”

Bucky lets his swing untwist and pushes himself, pumping his legs until he’s actually swinging. Steve laughs and starts to do the same thing, both of them probably looking ridiculous -- too old for swings and Steve dressed in a suit and tie. He knows Steve’s not okay. Not yet. “So. I was wondering…”

Steve looks at him as they swing past each other, both going opposite directions, but in the same rhythm. “What?”

“You know how to talk dirty in Latin?”

“Oh my God, Bucky!”

Bucky moves his hands on the chains, waiting until he’s at the apex and jumping, tumbling in the grass, not caring about stains, until he can see Steve. “What?” He smiles, like he’s soaring on the swing and trusting the feeling will last. Forever. “Just asking.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for “Rejoice! (Fall to Your Knees)”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21199982) by [velvetjinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetjinx/pseuds/velvetjinx)


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